


Of Living Legends

by angstyloyalties



Series: once+always [12]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia (Movies), Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), F/M, Gen, Multiple Pov, No Beta, Prince Caspian Re-Write, and explore the concept of what it means to be both a legend and a reality, barebones re-write, canon compliant ending, i just wanted to add some interiority, largely canon-compliant, minor tweaks, movie plot, re-write+missing scenes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:27:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 36,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24408025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angstyloyalties/pseuds/angstyloyalties
Summary: One year after their previous adventure, the Pevensies return to the magical land of Narnia and find that war has come to Narnia once again. Working with Prince Caspian, who has grown up on legends about them, the Kings and Queens of Old must overthrow King Miraz and restore peace to the kingdom they used to rule while also coming to terms with the 1300 years that have passed.or: a Prince Caspian movie re-write with more interiority, added and extended scenes, minor scene tweaks, and a few personal headcanons
Relationships: Caspian/Susan Pevensie
Series: once+always [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1505669
Comments: 28
Kudos: 78





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> if you're interested: here's the [spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1GUsTlJXe7sKeE9WnzUzDx?si=23r_5rjiRuSRe7KnIBLG3w) i put together for this fic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic will work best if you've watched the 2008 Prince Caspian movie, as I borrow extensively from the script and follow its plot almost entirely. It's pretty bare-bones as far as far as descriptions and such go, mostly because, as noted in the summary and the tags, I focused largely on interiority, expanded and added a few scenes, and made a few minor tweaks in how certain events pan out. Otherwise, the fic remains largely canon-compliant.

Caspian woke abruptly. A hand covered his mouth, but the man it belonged to was familiar, standing above him and looking at him through glasses sitting low on his nose. 

“Five more minutes,” he requested sleepily, relaxing as he pulled the professor's hand from his face.

“You won’t be watching the stars tonight, my prince,” came his worried reply. “Come, we must hurry.” 

Doctor Cornelius pulled him from the bed, and with growing concern, Caspian followed him hurriedly to the wardrobe across the room.

“Professor, what is going on?”

“Your aunt has given birth… to a son,” he answered before pushing beyond the back paneling into a secret passageway. 

Understanding flooded through Caspian in the moment he stepped into the wardrobe after him, but despite the urgency now burning in his blood, he turned back to peer into his room through a crack in the door to see that General Glozelle and several of his men had entered and surrounded his bed, crossbows ready.

He stayed just long enough to see them fire into the bed, before turning to follow Doctor Cornelius down a winding stairway. It let out near the armory, and after what he’d just seen, he was quick to grab armor and a sword before turning to the stables.

“You must make for the woods.”

“The woods?”

“They won’t follow you there.”

Caspian wasn’t sure he would want to go, himself, but there was a desperation in his professor’s voice he did not have the heart to question. Besides that, he was already being handed something wrapped tightly. There wasn’t time to question anything. He tucked it away quickly.

“It has taken me many years to find it. Do not use it except at your greatest need.”

“Will I ever see you again?” He asked, worried more for his professor than some lost treasure.

“I hope so, my dear prince. There is so much I meant to tell you. Everything you know is about to change.”

Caspian knew that better than most; he was only a few months shy of his eighteenth birthday, when he would be crowned king, successor to his father, Caspian IX. But the birth of his nephew was enough to set everything on its head at the castle. 

“Now go!”

He cut through the courtyard, making it nearly across the bridge before the fireworks sounded.

“A son, a son. Lord Miraz has been blessed with a son!”

He urged Destier on, chased by Telmarine soldiers on horseback through the city. They rode hard, through waters and across fields until they reached the woods. Caspian pressed on, into the unknown before risking a look back over his shoulder. He didn’t see them, but he also did not see the branch ahead of him until he turned back to the front.

Caspian was knocked from his horse, caught by the stirrup, and dragged along until he could finally unhook himself. He lied there for awhile, catching his breath, and then sat up to look around.

Suddenly, to the right, the tree opened up, or rather a door in the tree opened up and two figures stepped out. 

They were short, squat men, but something about that seemed wrong to Caspian. They weren’t exactly men, as he was.

“He’s seen us!” one of them called.

The other drew a sword and ran toward him. Then, when just a few paces away, he stopped. His eye had caught something on the ground nearby and Caspian looked. The horn.

Behind them came the sound of hooves. The Telmarines had caught up.

“Take care of him!” cried the man nearest him, taking off toward the approaching Telmarines.

Unsure of what that might mean for him and determined not to find out, Caspian grabbed the horn.

“No!”

He heard the sound of its call echo through his bones before he felt a sharp knock to his head, and nothing else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the whole, I rather loved Prince Caspian; I thought a lot of it was really well done and I really love the dimensions they added to these characters and the concept of having lost an entire lifetime and what that meant for them. But I found myself wanting more context and depth throughout. There were also a couple scenes that I felt missed their mark, and a few scenes that didn’t quite line up for me. So, all in all, this fic includes some scene extensions, additions, and changes to the main movie plot—most notably, in the latter half.
> 
> the first full chapter will be up tomorrow, then updates will come weekly.  
> tumblr;; [@angstyloyalties](https://angstyloyalties.tumblr.com)


	2. Chapter 2

“You go to St. Finbar’s.”

Susan looked up from the magazine. A boy had joined her at the paper stand. He was somehow years younger, despite not looking any older than she did.

“That’s right.”

“I go to Hendon House across the road. I’ve seen you…” he explained, and she settled for a simple, polite smile, “…sitting by yourself.”

It was short-lived.

“Yes, well. I prefer to be left alone.”

“Me, too!”

She did her best to turn her gaze downward, to her magazine, but the eye roll wasn’t meant to be missed. Not really.

“What’s your name?”

“Phyllis,” she said, after a short pause.

“Susan! You’d better come quickly!”

Between the tone of Lucy’s voice and the look on her face, Susan didn’t need to know more to understand what her sister was upset about. These days, it was only ever one thing.

The station was crowded, with the stairwell packed with other children, dressed similarly for school, shouting and jeering.

“Edmund!”

A swath of blue pushed past them, through the gathered students and into the mess of limbs. Out of them, came Peter. He looked as he often did lately, bewildered and angry, lost and apologetic. It was troublesome, the way he seemed to have gone where they couldn’t reach him. 

Whistles brought an end to the fight, and men pulled the boys apart.

“You’re welcome,” Edmund muttered, dropping to the opposite end of the bench where Susan had sat down.

“I had it sorted.”

“What was it this time?” Susan asked, interrupting, knowing even this would be a sordid argument if left unchecked, or worse yet, another fist fight. 

“He bumped me,” Peter admitted.

“So you hit him?” Lucy sounded nearly as fed up with him as Susan was. 

“No. After he bumped me, he tried to get me to apologize,” he explained. “That’s when I hit him.”

“Honestly. Is it that hard to just walk away?”

“I shouldn’t have to!” 

Susan sighed, and a glance at her other siblings revealed they were similarly frustrated. After nearly a year of this, it was hard to remember that there was once a time when their eldest brother hadn’t shouted so much, at least not to them. A time when their only bickering was for fun, and they trusted each other to know what they were talking about. They had been such different people, once.

“Don’t you ever get tired of being treated like a kid?” Peter asked.

“Uh, we _are_ kids.”

Susan shot a look at Edmund, but he only shrugged in response, like he knew he wasn’t helping and didn’t mind. Like he had some other plan he didn’t think she needed to know about. Her brothers were so different; one desperate to keep hold of something out of his reach, the other having never let it out of his grasp to begin with.

“Well, I wasn’t always,” Peter countered, repeating words he’d said often in recent weeks, as the summer holiday drew to a close. “It has been a year. How long does he expect us to wait?”

Susan couldn’t remember when it happened, exactly, but sometime in the last year the four of them had simply begun to believe that Aslan would, when the time was right, call them back to Narnia. 

“I think it’s time to accept the fact that we live here. It’s no use pretending any different.” It wasn’t often that she muttered, but some things were harder to admit to her siblings than they were to herself. No matter when or how the idea came about, Susan understood the desire to go back. She had it herself, as much as she sometimes wanted to deny it. 

Their train was some time away still, but arriving soon, and they’d be off to school for another term. Already she wished they could be there. She yearned for some kind of structure. Something she could ground herself in when her dreams became too lofty or shifted for the worse into nightmares. 

It was difficult for them all. What had happened to them was unheard of. Even Professor Kirke had only been able to offer kind but ultimately unhelpful sympathies. He hadn’t spent anywhere near the time in Narnia that they had. They had been Kings and Queens, yes, but it was more than that. She, Lucy, Peter, and Edmund. The four of them had been more than just Narnia’s rulers. They’d gone on to lead entire lives. Different from the ones they led here. Fuller.

She didn’t blame Peter for lashing out as he did, but it was aggravating that he seemed not to remember that he wasn’t the only one who was suffering. Sure, their younger siblings appeared to be managing well enough. But Lucy would put on a brave face regardless and Edmund hardly ever gave anything away. There was no telling, sometimes, how the two were really doing. 

Susan herself had good days and bad. Harder days and easier ones. It was difficult, but she was determined not to see it that way. She focused on keeping her head up and seeing what she still had, instead of dwelling on what she’d lost. She was already well versed in the practice of looking forward. It was what she held onto, when they’d had entire lives ripped away from them.

“Oh no…” She had looked to see if there was an attendant she could ask for the time, and instead caught sight of the same boy from the magazine stand outside, headed their way. “Pretend like you’re talking to me.”

“We _are_ talking to you,” Edmund quipped.

Her sigh barely left her lips when Lucy jumped up out of her seat with a shout.

“Be quiet, Lucy,” Susan urged her.

“Something pinched me!”

“Hey, stop pulling!” Peter exclaimed, turning to Edmund.

“I’m not touching you!” 

That was when she felt it, a spark of something alive running through her. They were all standing now, on edge as bricks began to pull away from the station walls. It was an unexpected sight, impractical and unlikely. Yet, the people around them took no notice.

“What is that?”

“It feels like magic!”

“Quick,” Susan instructed. “Everybody hold hands!”

Edmund’s retort was swallowed up by the rumble of the train, but with Lucy’s hand in her left and Peter’s in her right, Susan trusted Peter to account for their younger brother. Despite his tendency to poke fun at and provoke those around him at will and with ease, Edmund was still family.

The train raced past, pulling the rest of the station away with it—the luggage, the platform, the tracks and all—vanishing through the end of the tunnel into a light that gave way to open sky. Below it, sand and water of a brighter hue than anyone could dream of finding in England.

Lucy looked up at her, and Susan’s cautious smile held, for just a moment. Then it broke away to something carefree, and she was racing after Lucy toward the water. It was cool, but the rush of it was enough to push and pull away her worries as they jumped into the waves.

They were home.

“Where do you suppose we are?”

Peter scoffed. As smart as he was, Edmund seemed to be missing the obvious. “Well, where do you think?”

“Well, I don’t remember any ruins in Narnia.”

His hand stilled, water dripping from his fingers and he turned slowly, following Ed’s gaze up to the rocks behind him. Something had been built into the cliffside once, and the same something had been torn down, wrecked. It was hard for him to place, but it felt familiar. 

The ruins, he decided once they’d gotten up into them, were beautiful. Old ones often were. Grass and dirt had grown over the vast grounds of whatever had been built here. Peter was still combing through the map in his brain for where they might be. The lands around them looked like Narnia, but he couldn’t remember anything like this in the years they roamed the forests and the plains around their kingdom.

Lucy too, seemed unable to recognize their surroundings, wondering aloud about who might have lived in the ruins before they became overgrown with vines and soft tufts of grass along the vague paths that wove through the trees up the cliffside. 

“I think we did.”

Peter turned at Susan’s voice, seeing a glint of something in her hand as she straightened. She had a way of summoning them to her, because by the time he reached her, Edmund had appeared from where he’d been meandering through the trees.

“Hey, that’s mine…” Edmund said, taking the figure from Susan. “From my chess set.”

“Which chess set?” Peter asked.

“Well, I didn’t exactly have a solid gold chess set in Finchley, did I?”

It was a point well made, but he wondered what a golden knight from his chess set was doing all the way out here? Ed had never brought that set out on campaigns. It was too important to him to even go beyond the city walls.

“It can’t be…”

Lucy ran toward a clear open space beyond a stretch of crumbling stone walls, and he took off after her.

“Don’t you see?”

“What?”

Lucy took his hand and directed him to a particular spot on the raised, but surprisingly level ground, at the top of a set of wide, but shallow steps. 

“Imagine walls,” she instructed, turning him to face away from the cliff and down a long stretch of broken stone before guiding Edmund and Susan to stand alongside them. She gestured out ahead to either side of the open expanse in front of them. “And columns there.”

The words settled in as they often did when Lucy spoke, vividly, as if her voice invoked the images themselves and placed them before his eyes. 

“And a glass roof.”

He didn’t dare look up. The sky above would shatter the scene he saw before him if he let it, and the glass from the ceiling he’d spent a lifetime contemplating would tear through his heart despite not being there any longer. Instead, Peter held onto the picture of the throne room until he couldn’t anymore, until his breath caught and his heart stuck in his throat.

“Cair Paravel.”

How long had the year they’d been gone lasted, that this was the home they’d come back to find?

Glozelle spotted both Miraz and Prunaprismia on the upper balcony as he and his men returned to the castle, which only proved that he would not have to search for his commander. Inside the stables, he waited while the men tended to their horses, keeping his own at the ready. He wasn’t sure what Miraz would want done, once he saw the Narnian.

Luckily, he did not have to wait long. When Miraz arrived, he strode in, straight toward the lump of a dwarf strapped to the back of his horse. A cloth covered him, and it took Glozelle only a moment to realize what Miraz must believe.

“Wait, my lord! It is not what you think.”

“Then, what is it?”

“We are… not exactly sure.”

Glozelle nodded to a soldier, who removed the cloth on the horse.

“Impossible…”

Miraz’s response was similar to what his own had been, but where Glozelle had remained confused and even a bit concerned at the sight of something he had long thought to be extinct, Miraz smiled.

In just a few minutes, they had brought the dwarf upstairs to the grand hall where the Lords of Telmar were meeting in council to discuss Caspian’s disappearance. Glozelle waited at the doors while two soldiers waited with the dwarf on the other side.

“Lords of the council, my apologies for being late. I was not aware we were in session.”

“No doubt you were otherwise occupied.”

“My lord?”

“Ever since the death of Caspian the ninth, you have behaved as if you were king,” explained one councilman. It was a bold claim, but not an untrue one. As the late king’s brother, Miraz was closest to the throne after Caspian. “And now it seems behind these walls, even Prince Caspian has gone missing.”

“My deepest condolences, Lord Miraz. Imagine losing your nephew, the rightful heir to the throne, on the very night your wife has blessed you with a son.”

“Thank you, Lord Sopespian.” Miraz spoke evenly, but Glozelle could see the lines around his eyes. “Your compassion is a boon in such troubled times.”

“I trust you can tell us how such a tragedy could have occurred.”

“That is the most disturbing news of all,” Miraz announced turning from a suspicious Lord Sopespian to Glozelle himself. “Our beloved Caspian was abducted… by Narnians!”

“You go too far, Miraz! You expect us to stand by while you blame such a blatant crime on fairy tales?”

At Miraz’s signal, Glozelle opened the door and the soldiers brought the dwarf inside.

“We forget, my lords…” Miraz announced, allowing the men in the room to take in the sight of the stump of the creature likely none had expected to see. “Narnia was once a savage land. Fearsome creatures roamed free. Much of our forefathers’ blood was shed to exterminate this vermin. Or so we thought. But while we’ve been bickering amongst ourselves, they’ve been breeding, like cockroaches under a rock. Growing stronger. Watching us. Waiting to strike!”

Even Glozelle winced at the resounding sting of the lord’s attack on the dwarf, but the Narnian simply stared up at him, defiant.

“And you wonder why we don’t like you,” he spat.

Miraz looked positively murderous, but the anger settled into contentment and a quiet smile, as if the dwarf had just helped him in some way.

“Well, I intend to strike back. Even if I have to cut down the entire forest.” He turned to the Lords. “I assure you. I will find Prince Caspian and finish what our ancestors began.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, leave kudos and comments if you're so inclined.  
> or come talk to me on tumblr;; [@angstyloyalties](https://angstyloyalties.tumblr.com)  
> next chapter up in a week! :)


	3. Chapter 3

Edmund lingered on the dais feeling helplessly pained and ashamed all at once. He’d spent years roaming the halls of the castle, memorizing the quickest way from wing to wing, and the longest. He’d slept in nearly every room, even this one despite how inappropriate those situations might have been. Cair Paravel had been home to him longer than any other place in this world or the other. It was a blow to the gut to see it in ruins, worse yet that he hadn’t recognized it until Lucy painted the picture for them. 

His fingers itched with the need to feel the ridges of banisters and tables and thrones that no longer stood. He yearned to see it again, all of it, as it was, so much so that he very nearly wished he was dreaming. He’d dreamt of the castle often in England, whether safe and quite or chaotic and under attack. At least then, when he woke, it was a relief to know that all could still be fine. But Edmund was not dreaming now, and he stood where Cair Paravel once had with no way to dismiss what had happened. It was one of his nightmares come to life. The home of his first life, the castle in ruins, showing the sum of what they had been and everything they were. 

He wanted so desperately to go back a year and… he wasn’t quite sure what. The thought sunk in the pit of his stomach as he churned through the possibilities. If they had come back sooner, could they have kept this from happening? Would there have been a way to have saved the castle? 

Time had passed so differently between their worlds. He remembered falling back through the wardrobe only minutes after first climbing through, despite spending nearly two decades ruling Narnia with his siblings. It had only been a year for them since then, but if two decades could pass in the span of minutes, then centuries could have passed in the time they’d waited to return. 

Edmund stepped from the cracked platform and vaguely followed his siblings. His eyes trailed the remnants of walls and pillars, searching for proof. He knew Cair Paravel, and he knew it could not have been laid to waste by time alone.

It wasn’t until he caught up to the others that he found them, deep ridges in a boulder along the cliff. 

“Catapults,” he announced, kneeling to run his fingers along the marks.

“What?”

“This didn’t just happen. Cair Paravel was attacked.” Edmund looked up to find only Susan and Lucy watching him. He grimaced, understanding the discomfort in their eyes. 

Peter had his back to them. There were still a few inner walls left to the citadel, broken and knocked down in many areas, crumbling apart in all the rest. He had his eyes fixed on one that seemed more intact than the others.

“You don’t think…” Edmund asked, glancing from the wall to his brother. They were on the northeast side, having circled around to see if there was anything that survived, which could really only mean one thing for the wall set before them

Peter either agreed with him or had already decided to see for himself, but in either case, Edmund was quick to join him at the wall. It took more effort than he remembered to shift it, but their bodies were smaller now. Not quite as strong. 

Once the wooden door was revealed and broken in, Peter went on to fashion a torch together, tearing his shirt, and it was only out of habit that Edmund kept quiet. Habit and amusement.

“Don’t suppose you have any matches, do you?”

“No, but… would this help?” He fished out the electric torch from his satchel, a cheeky grin on his face.

“You might have mentioned that a bit sooner!”

Despite Peter’s light tone, apprehension wiped Edmund’s grin from his face as he led them through the doorway. Descending the stairs, he knew what he hoped to find, but he’d also once thought Cair Paravel was infallible, so there was no telling what had happened.

The attacks on the castle, no matter where they had come from, had not spared the vault. Not entirely. But much of the support for the room was still miraculously intact. They picked their way down the steps hurriedly, barely avoiding the rubble.

“I can’t believe it. It’s all still here,” Peter murmured.

They’d used the room for various keepsakes and treasures, with a deep chest alloted to each of them. For years, they had only stored gifts and ceremonial items. But their reign had been spotted with various periods of peace, the most pleasant and long-lasting of which spanned the last few years before they went hunting for the stag. It had been during this time that they’d collected much of their favorite pieces and stored them down in the treasure vault. Edmund had stuck to the more traditional treasures of jewels and gifts. Though eventually, he had gone so far as to include his first set of armor—from Beruna—and his favorite sword. Looking through his chest, it looked like someone, likely some of the ladies at the castle, had added in some of their clothing as well.

“I was so tall,” Lucy exclaimed, clutching one of her longer dresses to her shoulders.

“Well, you were older then,” Susan commented.

Edmund countered, “As opposed to years later, when you’re younger.”

They led strange lives. He couldn’t comprehend exactly how long it had been, but he had a hunch, based on the trees outside and the water levels along the beach below. He just hoped it wasn’t nearly as long as he was thinking. 

“What is it?” 

He looked up again at Lucy’s voice, unintentionally dropping the helmet on his head as he did so. Concern riddled both his sisters’ faces, a look he was not fond of, on either of the girls.

“My horn,” Susan answered. “I must have left it on my saddle, the day we went back.”

Edmund caught her eye briefly before pulling the helmet from his head to set back down among his other treasures. It was bittersweet, being here.

Peter was the last to his chest, in no hurry to rummage through his past. But the scrape of his sword being pulled from its scabbard brought a multitude of other clashes and blood and glinting metal to Edmund’s mind. It was why he had kept his own sword sheathed. The room was too small, too enclosed, too stuffy for sounds like that and the memories they brought. 

“When Aslan bares his teeth, winter meets its death.”

The words were etched into Rhindon, reinforced by each and every wound and life Peter had taken, from the very first to the last. Edmund knew the blood was still embedded into the metal, even if they couldn’t see it. He’d spent enough time with the dwarves over the years to know the steel of Old Narnian swords would hold even the smallest traces of blood for centuries.

Lucy answered with the rest of the rhyme, but her next words were the ones that took him back to a time when he was younger. Older. Whichever it was.

“Everyone we knew… Mr. Tumnus and the Beavers. They’re all gone.”

Edmund was met with solemn faces around the room as he looked to each of his siblings. It was clear they were of similar minds. There was so much he wanted to know, more than just how long they’d been gone, but the events that had passed too. They had lost their friends, their family, their people. He needed to know how many, when, and where. They had been a family, whether by blood or by battle, and this had been their home. He needed to learn what had happened to cause its destruction.

“I think it’s time we found out what’s going on.”

“How long do you think it’s been?” Lucy asked, sitting as still as her curiosity would allow while Susan wove thin braids into her hair. They had found a couple height-appropriate dresses, and with the help of some clever lacing, she felt they looked decently put together. They weren’t ball gowns, but she had a feeling they wouldn’t need anything nearly that elaborate.

“I don’t know. A while, judging by the trees outside. There are more of them than I remember.”

“I think we planted those apple trees.”

“Did we?” Susan asked, strangely distant. 

“Don’t you remember?”

“Remember what?”

Lucy nearly turned at Peter’s voice, but remembered in time that Susan still had her fingers in her hair. 

“About the apple orchard we planted?”

Susan’s fingers stilled briefly, and Lucy could feel her sister shift uncomfortably before finishing the last turns of the plait. It was the only reminder Lucy needed. 

There were some things they’d agreed not to mention around Peter. It had been, in part, a way to spare his feelings, but it had been for the rest of them too. A way to hold onto the hope that all was still well with the family they left behind when they came back through the wardrobe. 

Now that they knew what happened to Cair Paravel, though, it was harder to keep hold of that hope. 

“Are we all ready?”

Susan’s hands had fallen away, and Lucy was as glad for it as she was Edmund’s interruption. When she turned, Susan was twisting and pulling her own hair out of her face, and the boys looked to have found clothes that fit well enough themselves. Peter’s tunic was a touch too big, and Edmund was making the face he always made when his boots pinched, but they all looked more like themselves again. Being back in Narnia felt right, but it wasn’t until now that Lucy felt comfortable.

“We should go, then,” Edmund suggested. “The more daylight we have, the better.”

It was still quite early in the day, by Lucy’s judgement. The sun was high overhead, and it felt enough like summer that despite not knowing the exact time of year, she could hazard a guess that the night would be short, once they got through the rest of the day. She just hoped they’d find someone—anyone, really—to talk to and get some information from before then. It was dreadfully quiet and the lack of people, human or otherwise, grew more alarming by the minute.

Luckily, it wasn’t long before they came across others. 

Unfortunately, it wasn’t quite so pleasant a meeting.

“Drop him?” the dwarf exclaimed after Lucy had cut him free of his bonds. “That’s the best you could come up with?”

“A simple thank you would suffice,” Susan stated.

“They were doing fine drowning me without your help.”

Peter frowned. “Maybe we should have let them.” 

“Why were they trying to kill you, anyway?” Lucy asked, hoping to keep the argument from spiralling too far.

“They’re Telmarines. That’s what they do.”

“Telmarines?” Edmund asked. “In Narnia?”

“Where have you been for the last few hundred years?” 

The guilt was instant. Hundreds of years? Swallowing the lump in her throat, Lucy answered with caution. “It’s a bit of a long story.”

When she looked from her siblings to the dwarf, Lucy saw him watching as Susan handed Peter his sword back. 

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” the dwarf moaned, having seen it too. “You’re it? _You’re_ the Kings and Queens of Old?”

For a breath, maybe two, Lucy let it sink in. First his tone. Like he was expecting more than the four of them. Then his words. It was one thing that they were children again, that much she understood. 

But when had they become the Kings and Queens _of Old_?

“High King Peter, the Magnificent.” Peter had extended a hand, but the dwarf seemed wary.

“You probably could’ve left off the last bit,” Susan commented. 

Truth was, the Narnians had used their titles more than they themselves had, except when teasing one another or when reminding each other of their roles as monarchs to their kingdom. Each of them had grown into their titles, earned them, and it felt strange to hear Peter claim his now.

“Probably,” the dwarf chuckled. Lucy was glad to find he had a sense of humor, at least. And she could see that Edmund was grinning as well, though he turned his head to hide it.

Peter though, wasn’t so amused and drew his sword. “You might be surprised.”

“Oh, you don’t want to do that, boy.”

“Not me.” Peter turned the sword to offer it hilt first to the dwarf, and nodded to Edmund. “Him.”

Lucy bit back a laugh, knowing Peter had just given Edmund exactly what he’s been anxious for—the twist of a true grin settled onto his face as he drew the sword at his hip.

There had been a fencing class the boys took back in England, but it had just been the one lesson. From what Lucy heard, they’d overstepped the boundaries of the sport and been asked to leave. 

The dwarf took Rhindon, letting it drop heavily into the sand despite his firm grip. Watching him, Lucy saw the shift before it happened. There was a clash of metal and a swift duck, but where the swing of the dwarf’s weapon was high, the butt of the hilt was low, straight into Edmund’s face.

“Edmund!”

“Oh! You all right?” The dwarf drawled.

He was, of course. Peter and Edmund had trained with a wide variety of Narnians, whether shorter or taller, two- or four-legged. 

Edmund returned a swipe against the dwarf’s backside, with the flat of his blade, then cast a look over to them. It was no doubt to catch their smiles, but he turned back to his opponent quickly. He didn’t often make the same mistake twice.

Several swings were blocked or dodged—high, low, under foot and over head—until a number of strikes finally knocked Peter’s sword from the dwarf’s hand and into the sand.

He dropped to his knees and stared up at Edmund, who held the point of his sword at him.

“Beards and bedsteads,” the dwarf huffed. “Maybe that horn worked after all.”

“What horn?” Susan asked and they all exchanged a quick look before turning back to the dwarf.

“The horn of legend,” he explained. “Yours, I believe. If you are Queen Susan?”

She nodded. “You know us then. But who are you?”

He dipped his head, perhaps the first sign of acknowledgment to their true nature as kings and queens. Lucy found it just as flustering as she always had, but said nothing of it. There were more pressing matters.

“My name is Trumpkin. We should get moving. We’ve a ways to go if we’re to meet Prince Caspian the Shuddering Woods.”

“Prince Caspian?” Edmund asked.

“Aye. I’ll tell you on the way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, leave kudos and comments if you're so inclined.  
> or come talk to me on tumblr;; [@angstyloyalties](https://angstyloyalties.tumblr.com)  
> new chapter every friday!


	4. Chapter 4

The first thing Caspian noticed upon waking was the warmth. The second was the strange beadlike artwork spanning the ceiling above. And the third was that he was not entirely alone.

“This bread is so stale.”

“I’ll just get him some soup then.”

“You said you were going to get rid of him.”

“No, I said I’d take care of him.”

“Well, I don’t think I hit him hard enough.”

“Nikabrik, he’s just a boy!”

“He’s a telmarine, not some lost puppy!”

The conversation had started hushed, but Caspian was certain they were talking about him, whoever they were. All he could remember was a short, stout man, the evening before—he hoped it hadn’t been longer—and a horn. 

Slipping carefully from the bed and discarding the bandage around his head, Caspian crept forward from the corner of the room toward the voices. 

“We can’t kill him now, not after bandaging his head.”

“Ah, and how do you think his friends are treating their guest?”

“Trumpkin knew what he was doing.”

There was a brief pause, and Caspian took it, bursting forward. To his surprise, it wasn’t men who greeted him, but two shorter creatures. One reminded him of the man he remembered from the woods, but he knew better than to call him a man, now. 

He was a dwarf, and he was blocking the way out.

Caspian reached for the fire poker and swung it.

“See? I told you we should’ve killed him!”

“You know why we can’t!” called the other.

“If you’re taking a vote, I’m with him,” Caspian replied, deciding to take whatever advantage he could, whether or not he knew who, or what, he was siding with.

“We can’t let him go! He’s seen us!”

The dwarf swung back at him, and Caspian was busy, for a moment, blocking the blade.

“That’s enough, Nikabrik! Or do I have to sit on your head again?”

Nikabrik. Such a strange name… but perhaps, not so strange for a dwarf. Caspian had no other names to reference it against. Not immediately, anyhow.

“Now, look what you made me do! I spent half the morning on that soup.”

“Wh-what are you?” Caspian asked, finally getting a proper look at the creature. He seemed to be on his side, but it was startling, nonetheless, to see an animal talk.

“It’s funny. You’d think more people would recognize a badger when they saw one.”

He blinked, then shook his head. “No, I mean. You’re Narnians. You’re supposed to be extinct.” All the stories had said so. How often had Doctor Cornelius told him they were gone?

The badger brought another bowl of soup out. “Here we are. Still hot.”

“Since when did we become a boarding house for Telmarine soldiers?”

“I’m not a soldier!” He should have been, but there were different responsibilities for members of the royal house. “I’m Prince Caspian… the Tenth.”

“What are you doing here? Nikabrik asked.

Caspian took a breath. “Running away. My uncle has always wanted my throne. I suppose I have only lived this long because he did not have an heir of his own.” He was nearly of age to take be crowned, himself, but not quite old enough yet. But with Miraz’s son, and the attempt to assassination him, Caspian knew things were a bit more complicated now.

“Well, this changes things,” the badger announced simply.

“Yes. It means we won’t have to kill you ourselves.”

Understanding dawned, and Caspian stood abruptly. He hadn’t even touched his soup.

“Where are you going?”

He couldn’t stay. “My uncle will not stop until I am dead.”

“Wait, you’re meant to save us! Don’t you know what this is?”

He turned back, at first confused, until he could see what the badger was holding. The horn.

It had been dark when he first saw it, but in the light of the fire, he could finally see it properly. Caspian had seen it in enough books, and Doctor Cornelius had described it more than enough times for him to recognize it now. 

“Does it work?”

“It was certainly loud enough, last night.”

Caspian resisted the urge to snap at Nikabrik. “No, I mean. Will it really call the Kings and Queens of Old?”

He considered the situation they were in carefully. Miraz was power-hungry and very clearly wanted him dead in order to take the throne for himself. He stood before a talking badger and a dwarf. Living and breathing Narnians, who seemed to think he was the one who should save them. From what, he wasn’t entirely certain yet, but even just that was enough to make him ponder the possibility of help. Particularly assistance from the rulers of the Golden Age of Narnia, a time known for its hard won peace. They would know of hardship and challenges. He could use their guidance.

“You have quite a library, Doctor.”

Lord Miraz was a formidable man. Doctor Cornelius had known this since long before he took the position at the castle to teach Prince Caspian. His mother had warned him against it, and there had been plenty of times in the years since that he wished he’d taken her advice. Presently, the sentiment was returning in full force.

“Is there anything in particular that you seek, my lord?”

“I think I have already found what I’m looking for…” he said, before violently sticking an arrow into the book spread open on the desk. The tip pierced through a painting of the Old Narnian Kings and Queens. The fletching at the end was a vibrant red. “...in one of my soldiers!”

Miraz sat and kicked his feet up, regarding him warily. 

“What do you know of Queen Susan’s horn?”

Frowning, Cornelius answered cautiously. “It was said to be magic.”

“Magic?”

“The Narnians believed it could summon their Kings and Queens of Old,” he explained. “At least, such was the superstition.”

“And what,” Miraz responded, leaning forward. “Does Caspian know of this superstition?”

“My lord, you forbade me from mentioning the old tales.”

“So I did.”

“I will say this,” Cornelius continued, finding courage in knowledge of his predicament. “If Caspian does know the deep magic, my lord would have good reason to be nervous.”

General Glozelle was standing just outside the study, listening in when Lord Miraz caught his eye. At his signal, Glozelle motioned the soldiers behind him into the room to arrest Cornelius. Quietly, Lord Sopespian joined him, watching curiously as the doctor was taken away down the hall.

“First our prince, now his tutor. If the members of Miraz’s own house are not safe, are any of us?”

Glozelle furrowed his brow as Miraz called for the lord to join him. “Those are dangerous words, Lord Sopespian.”

He smiled wryly, as though he understood, but not quite in the way Glozelle meant for him to. “These are dangerous times, General. One should choose his words as carefully as he chooses his friends.”

The general turned the conversation over in his head as he waited by the door during the lords’ conversation. He believed in the Telmarine way, had since he was a child. There wasn’t much else for him to ascribe to—Narnian legend was just that, legend. Stories for their young, told of unnatural creatures, talking animals, and grown-up children attempting to rule. 

But then, hadn’t he just discovered that at least some of the stories were true? Miraz was certainly treating it as such. Further, Glozelle had seen the dwarf with his own eyes. And the horn, he’d heard with his own ears, regardless of whether it worked or not.

With Lord Sopespian, Miraz seemed exceptionally impatient. The bridge across the ford at Beruna was coming along slowly, but still on schedule. There hadn’t been any urgency to the construction before, and yet, it seemed with the potential threat of children’s stories, Miraz felt threatened. Glozelle wasn’t sure it would be wise to consider these child kings and queens from ages past as simple stories. Not when they had put such visible cracks in Lord Miraz’s composure. He had a feeling it would just be a matter of time, to see how far they would grow.

Listening to Trumpkin explain the state of Narnia was a uncomfortable task, though Peter knew it was necessary. His questions grew the more the dwarf explained, but they were personal—he didn’t want Trumpkin to answer them. He wasn’t even sure he wanted the answers just yet. So he kept rowing, frustrated at the change around them. The water was just as blue and clear as he remembered. 

Strange how so much had changed, and yet somethings were just the same. 

“They’re so still.”

“They’re trees,” Trumpkin said. “What do you expect?”

“They used to dance.”

Peter could almost see the sorrow in Lucy’s voice despite having her back turned to them in the boat. It was a toss up sometimes, between Edmund and Lucy, which was better with their words. But it wasn’t just the trees that were different. It was the silence in everything else, too. They seemed alone in the woods. 

“It wasn’t long after you left that the Telmarines invaded. Those that survived retreated to the woods. And the trees… they retreated so deeply inside themselves that no one has heard from them since.”

“I don’t understand. How could Aslan have let this happen?”

“Aslan? I thought he abandoned us after you lot did.” 

Peter’s grip around the oars tightened, and he looked up. How Edmund managed to take everything in and still maintain a neutral expression was beyond him. 

“We didn’t mean to leave, you know,” he said, after he had swallowed his anger. The bulk of it anyway.

“Doesn’t make much of a difference now, does it?”

“Get us to the Narnians, and it will.” His voice was clipped, and this time, he avoided Edmund’s pointed gaze altogether. 

The silence remained until they reached a rocky shore, where, focused on pulling the boat onto the bank, Peter missed seeing Lucy wander off. 

They all missed the bear, in fact, until Lucy’s scream caught their attention.

“Shoot, Susan. Shoot!”

Susan and Trumpkin both had bows drawn, but after the bear fell, it seemed only Trumpkin had loosed his arrow.

“Why wouldn’t he stop?” 

“I expect he was hungry,” the dwarf replied. 

Peter helped Lucy up, keeping his sword pointed at the bear.

“He was wild,” Edmund concluded. 

“I don’t think he could talk at all.”

Trumpkin approached the lying beast, grim. “Get treated like a dumb animal long enough and that’s what you become.” 

While his youngest sibling turned her face into his chest when Trumpkin pulled his knife, Peter found it difficult to look away. 

“You may find Narnia a more savage place than you remember.”

Savage, silent, and full of a weighted sorrow, Peter thought. Narnia was a far cry from the peaceful land it had been when they left. 

The country proved to have changed in other ways, as well. Paths that had once been well worn were now grown over, difficult to find. Though he recognized a few of the landmarks as they ventured from Glasswater Creek into the Black Woods, Peter was struck with the strange notion that something was wrong.

“I don’t remember this way at all,” Susan called, once they’d gotten well into the forest.

“That’s the problem with girls. You can’t carry a map in your heads,” he called back, his tone as light as he dared despite the sinking feeling in his gut. A part of him agreed.

Lucy, at least, picked up on his attempt at humor. “That’s because our heads have something in them.”

“I wish he’d just listen to the DLF,” Susan murmured.

“DLF?” Edmund asked.

“Dear Little Friend.”

Peter could practically hear the smile in Lucy’s voice. It was an old term, one she’d used often, though it was customarily reserved for the physically smaller Narnians. Squirrels, Foxes, and even some younger fauns and satyrs. Not dwarves, who sometimes found it offensive, as Trumpkin seemed to. But before he could join the conversation behind him, Peter came up against a rock formation that blocked their way.

“I’m not lost…”

“No. You’re just going the wrong way.”

He signed and turned. “You said you last saw Caspian at the Shuddering Wood. The quickest way there is to cross at the River Rush.”

“But, unless I’m mistaken, there’s no crossing in these parts.”

“That explains it then. You’re mistaken,” he frowned, setting his jaw. Peter knew these woods better than just about anyone, except maybe Edmund. But his brother would have mentioned something if he noticed they weren’t taking the quickest route.

Unfortunately, the truth of the matter was more embarrassing than anything else. He hadn’t accounted for the natural forces of time.

“Over hundreds of years, water erodes the earth’s soil…” Susan started, as they stood looking over a gorge, the water rushing down below.

“Oh, shut up,” he muttered, turning back to Trumpkin. “Is there a way down?”

“Yeah, falling. Come on. There’s a ford at Beruna. Any of you mind swimming?” 

“Anything’s better than walking.”

Peter took a breath, but said nothing. 

“Aslan? It’s Aslan!” Lucy’s voice was small at first, then louder, more excited. “It’s Aslan over there. Well, can’t you see? He’s right…”

He looked. They all did, but the other side of the gorge was empty.

“…there.”

“Do you see him now?” Trumpkin asked, skeptical.

“I’m not crazy. He was there. He wanted us to follow him.”

Peter frowned, and then spoke softly. “I’m sure there are any number of lions in this wood. Just like that bear.”

“I think I know Aslan when I see him.”

“Look,” Trumpkin retorted. “I’m not about to jump off a cliff after someone who doesn’t exist.”

“The last time I didn’t believe Lucy, I ended up looking pretty stupid,” Edmund confessed, shifting to her side almost imperceptibly. Peter hated when he did that, he hated to be against Edmund, against any of his siblings. But when he looked back over the gorge to the other side, the trees were just as empty as they had been before. 

“Why wouldn’t I have seen him?” Peter asked, finally.

“Maybe you weren’t looking.”

“I’m sorry, Lu.” He tried to give her a genuine smile, but the truth was, he didn’t have it in him. Susan was already walking away, and it seemed easier to follow her lead than put up a front. Especially one he knew Lucy wouldn’t believe anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr;; [@angstyloyalties](https://angstyloyalties.tumblr.com)  
> new chapter every friday!


	5. Chapter 5

For all the stories he’d heard of the Narnians, Caspian had never considered the possibility that he’d ever find himself in their company. Particularly not with two who seemed so sure of he would fail in leading the others, despite convincing him he should do it in the first place. They’d described the plight of the Old Narnians who still occupied these woods, trying in vain to convince him that he was the one destined to lead them against the Telmarines. But as soon as he took them up on the offer, they thought it best to wait.

It was infuriating. 

“I can hear you,” he called behind him.

“I just think we should wait for the Kings and Queens,” Trufflehunter explained. For the tenth time.

Caspian kept walking.

“Fine, go then! See if the others will be as understanding.”

“Or maybe I’ll come with you,” Nikabrik suggested. “I want to see you explain things to the minotaurs.”

He nearly tripped on a fern. “Minotaurs… they’re real?”

“And very bad tempered.”

“Yeah, not the mention big.”

“Huge.”

“What about centaurs?” he asked, thinking it might be best to get a sense of who he might be leading. “Do they still exist?” 

“Well, the centaurs will probably fight on your side. But there’s no telling what the others will do.”

Caspian considered it for a moment. He knew enough of the stories to know there had once been good and bad beasts of Narnia. Those who had fought with the Kings and Queens, and those who had sided with the White Witch. To his recollection, Minotaurs and even dwarves had been on the losing side. And yet…. Nikabrik didn’t seem all that bad. Negative, and a bit violent, but decent, if Trufflehunter’s opinion was to be trusted—and he thought it could. 

“What about Aslan?”

Dwarf and badger both stopped to exchange a look.

“How do you know so much about us?”

He shook his head. “Just stories.”

“Wait a minute… Your father told you stories about Narnia?”

“No… My professor. Listen, I’m sorry. These are not the kinds of questions you should be asking.”

He wasn’t entirely certain what sort of questions they should have been asking him. In fact, there were still a dozen more he had, himself, waiting to roll off his tongue. But instead, he turned and pressed on, ignoring the sound of Trufflehunter sniffing the air.

“What is it?” Nikabrik asked.

“Human.”

Caspian paused and turned, in time for Nikabrik to ask if it was him the badger smelled.

“No,” Trufflehunter answered, turning slowly back the way they’d come. “Them!”

“Run!”

It was tricky, running through the ferns. They were overgrown and difficult to cut through while dodging the arrows that flew at them from behind. 

A sharp yell and a thud made him stop. Trufflehunter had been hit. 

“Wait, I’ll go,” Caspian called, running back past Nikabrik. Trufflehunter tried to shove the horn into his hands when he reached him, claiming it was more important than he was. Caspian risked a glance up at those tracking them and was further confused by the swiftly falling soldiers. But there was no time to ponder it.

Instead, he picked took the horn, tucked it into his bag before picking the badger up and turning tail.

“Get him out of here,” he demanded when he reached Nikabrik, setting Trufflehunter down. He drew his sword before either could complain and started back toward the last of the soldiers. There were only a couple, but they were dropping quickly. The last one simply threw down his crossbow, drew his sword, and began to swing wildly at the ferns around him.

“Where are you?” the soldier exclaimed into the ferns, before falling himself. 

It was just Caspian, then.

Caspian and the ominous rustling that drew ever closer. It was quick when it flipped out of the shrubbery and knocked him down. A sword, short, but appropriately sharp, came to rest pointed at his face.

“Choose your last words carefully, Telmarine!”

For a moment, all he could do was stare. Then, Caspian stated dumbly, “You are a mouse.”

The creature sighed, exasperated. “I was hoping for something a little more original. Come on, pick up your sword.”

He glanced over at his sword, and then declined. “No, thanks.”

“Pick it up!” he insisted. “I will not fight an unarmed man.”

“Which is why I will live longer if I choose not to cross blades with you, noble mouse.”

“I said I wouldn’t fight you. I didn’t say I’d let you live!” He snapped back, the point of his blade still pointed at Caspian’s face.

“Reepicheep! Stay your blade!”

The mouse looked up, shocked. “Trufflehunter? I trust you have a good reason for this untimely interruption!”

“He doesn’t,” Nikabrik countered. ”Go ahead.”

The damned dwarf was going to be the death of him, Caspian was sure of it.

“Reepicheep, he’s the one that blew the horn!”

The mouse returned his attention to Caspian, staring at him now with such incredulity, Caspian wasn’t sure which of them was more surprised.

“What?”

“Then let him bring it forward.”

Both Caspian and Reepicheep turned, following the voice to find a solemn man, or rather, a half man speak. It wasn’t until the mouse let him sit up that Caspian recognized what had just joined them. 

The centaur spoke sincerely, and beyond his shoulder, Caspian spied four others. 

“This is the reason we have gathered.”

By the time they all truly did meet, night had fallen, and the collection of Narnians who had come together was overwhelming. It wasn’t an extensive group, but the creatures were so varied, Caspian hardly knew what to do with himself. 

Unfortunately, the Narnians seemed torn on what to do with him as well.

“All this horn proves is that they’ve stolen yet another thing from us!”

“I didn’t steal anything!” Caspian defended.

“Didn’t steal anything? Shall we list the things the Telmarines have taken?”

“Our homes!”

“Our freedom!”

“Our lives!”

He grimaced as he turned to take in the trials of these people. He felt for them, the fauns, the centaurs, even the minotaurs, but this wasn’t fair. “You would hold me accountable for all the crimes of my people?”

“Accountable… and punishable!” Maybe Nikabrik wasn’t a decent sort after all.

“That is rich, coming from you dwarf,” Reepicheep countered, stepping in the open space on the lawn. “Or have you forgotten that it was your people who fought alongside the White Witch?”

“And I’d gladly do it again if it would rid us of these barbarians!”

“Then we are lucky it is not in your power to bring her back. Or do you want us to ask this boy to go against Aslan?” The Narnians afforded Trufflehunter some silence to continue. “Some of you may have forgotten, but we badgers remember well, that Narnian was never right except when a son of Adam was king.”

“He’s a Telmarine! Why would we want him as our king?”

“Because I can help you!” Caspian exclaimed, interrupting them all. “Beyond these woods, I am a prince. The Telmarine throne is rightfully mine. Help me claim it, and I can bring peace between us.”

“It is true.”

Caspian got the sense that this centaur, the same one from before, was one of their leaders. 

“The time is ripe. I watch the skies, for it is mine to watch as it is yours to remember, badger. Tarva, the Lord of Victory, and Alambil, the Lady of Peace, have met. And here, a son of Adam has come forth to offer us back our freedom.

“Is it possible?” The voice came from up high, quick and rushed. “Do you really think there could be peace? Do you? I mean, really?”

Caspian looked around to the Narnians and let the gravity of their presence sink in. If there was ever a moment he wished for advice, it was now. But he had none.

“Two days ago, I didn’t believe in the existence of Talking Animals, or Dwarves, or Centaurs. And yet, here you are… in strength and numbers we Telmarines could never have imagined,” he started. When no one interrupted, he continued. Clearly, this was an opportunity he would not get again. “Whether this horn is magic or not, it brought us together. And together, we have a chance to take back what is ours.” 

The silence was deafening and Caspian fervently hoped that the horn was, in fact, magic. Just to ease the pressure. 

“If you will lead us, then my sons and I offer you our swords,” answered the centaur. He and the others drew their blades, long, hefty things that glimmered a bit when a ray of moonlight or a flicker of the various flames around them were caught in reflection.

“And we offer you our lives… unreservedly,” Reepicheep announced, bowing with a line of other mice, similarly armed, alongside him.

“Miraz’s army will not be far behind, sire.”

Caspian let out a breath, hit with the sudden thought that Trufflehunter, for his level-headedness, might just provide sound council one day. He just needed to survive beyond this meeting long enough to win the Narnians back their land.

“If we are to be ready for them, we must hurt to find soldiers and weapons. I’m sure they will be here soon.”

Swimming across the ford at Beruna proved to be impossible. It was clear, even from their partial view, that whatever reason the Telmarines had for building the bridge across the river, they had ill intentions for any and all who resided in the woods beyond. There were several wagons stocked with what looked to be battle gear and weapons off to the side, waiting to be taken over. It would be several days still, before the bridge was complete from what they could see, but to see the gear was concerning.

“Perhaps this wasn’t the best way to come after all.”

When they returned to the gorge, Lucy was snappy, more bothered by the Telmarines than anything else. Not that her siblings were entirely forgiven.

“Where do you think you saw Aslan?”

“I wish you’d all stop acting like grown-ups. I didn’t think saw him. I did see him!” She crossed back where she had been before, hearing, but not making out Trumpkin’s mumbled rebuttal as she shifted closer to the edge. “It was right around…” 

The ground beneath gave way, and Lucy plummeted out of sight. But the drop was short and she looked up at the concerned faces with a shy grin.

“...here.” 

Below her was a steep and narrow path, but a path nonetheless down into the gorge between rocks. It was slippery as they crossed, but Trumpkin caught Lucy each time she threatened to topple over into the water. 

By the time night fell, they had settled for the evening, circling a fire just inside the Shuddering Wood. No one had mentioned Aslan again, but Lucy didn’t mind so much now. Not with the sky clear and the stars so bright above them. Quiet moments like this always settled her soul. It wasn’t quite as good as being on a ship. Not with the trees in the way. But she didn’t mind the trees, either. Besides, she couldn’t be out on the water now. They still had to find Caspian.

“Lucy, are you awake?” Susan whispered against the low crackle of the fire and the steady snores from their brothers. Trumpkin was, surprisingly, a quiet sleeper.

“Why do you think I couldn’t see Aslan?”

Lucy leaned up on her elbow. “You believe me?”

“Well… we got across the gorge.”

“... I don’t know. Maybe you didn’t really want to.” She nearly settled back in a huff, both concerned and frustrated. Lucy knew their time away from Narnia in the last year had been difficult for her siblings. It was difficult for her, as well, but in a different way. Hardly anyone believed them about the years they spent as kings and queens of a make-believe world at the back of a wardrobe. Only Professor Kirke (and his friend Polly Plummer, who they met toward the end of the summer) believed them of that. 

“You always knew we’d be coming back here, didn’t you?”

But while her siblings seemed to grasp just how secretive they would need to be about their experience, the youngest Pevensie had spent the better part of the last year struggling with having to hide what she knew in her heart was true. Truthfully, it wouldn’t have been such a stretch for her to get caught up in the same fights as Peter, though their reasons would have differed vastly. He was fighting over everything he’d lost. She would have fought for everything she knew was still to come.

“I hoped so,” she confirmed.

“I just got used to the idea of living in England.”

Lucy frowned. “But you’re happy to be here, aren’t you?”

“While it lasts.” 

Susan’s worry was easy enough to understand. They hadn’t anticipated leaving Narnia, and Lucy certainly did not want to leave again. But it seemed to her that her sister already felt they would. It wasn’t as surprising as it was concerning, Lucy supposed. Susan had always been pragmatic, aware of all the possibilities, and the shock of falling back through the wardrobe had clearly lingered.

The next morning came early for Lucy, earlier than it did for Peter, who was often the first awake of the four. Despite this, she rose and left the others, pushing into the trees for follow the sound of a growl. A dryad floated past her, laughing, and the trees moved aside, revealing the reason Lucy had been pulled from her sleep. 

“Lucy…”

She grinned and joined the lion atop the small hill, tossing her arms around his mane in the way only Lucy ever seemed brave enough to do. 

“I’ve missed you so much,” she confessed, before stepping back. “You’ve grown!”

“Every year you grow, so shall I.”

She smiled at the thought, choosing, quite plainly, not to consider the additional years she’d lived. 

“Where’ve you been? Why haven’t you come to help us?”

“Things never happen the same way twice, dear one.”

She wasn’t sure what to make of his answer, but a twig snapped behind her, and suddenly, she was no longer looking at Aslan, but laying by the fire once more, Susan asleep beside her.

“Susan, get up!”

The response game groggily. “Certainly Lu. Whatever you like.”

Sighing, Lucy rolled over and left again, but this time, there was no dancing dryad, and the trees were woefully still.

“Wake up…” she urged the trees, but they remained dormant. The whole of the woods around her was silent. And then she heard it, a growl much like the one she’d dreamt.

“Aslan?”

She stood, but just as quickly, a hand covered her mouth and she was pulled out of view. Her alarm settled at the sight of Peter, noting the finger he had pressed to his lips. It didn’t take long for her to see what he had. 

It wasn’t Aslan at all, but a minotaur.

The clash of swords was as unexpected as the minotaur, and Lucy cringed further as Peter lodged Rhindon into a tree, missing the newcoming who kicked him back. Despite falling, her brother was quick to recover, going after the man with a rock as he managed to yank the blade from the tree. Then, beyond them, Lucy saw more than just the minotaur.

“No!”

Her shout interrupted the fight, causing the boys to regard each other. The Telmarine was taller, but only just, with hair as dark as Susan’s. His armor was nothing like she was used to, only familiar because of what she’d seen down by the bridge. 

“Prince Caspian?” Peter asked, cautious.

“Yes,” he confirmed. “And who are you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave comments/kudos as you see fit or come talk to me on tumblr! [@angstyloyalties](https://angstyloyalties.tumblr.com) :)  
> new chapter every friday!


	6. Chapter 6

There were certain things Edmund knew he had once been used to, but sleeping on the ground was never one of them. Maybe, before, it had been because he always had the softness of his bed back at Cair Paravel waiting for him to ease the pain of stiff joints left from rocky bedding. But even in England, where he rarely slept on anything but a bed—though not one as comfortable as the one that had been at the castle—Edmund still rose with aches and pains. 

No. It wasn’t the lack of physical comfort, but the stress of the situation. He held the tension in his shoulders and his neck, and sometimes even in his hands. And despite being in Narnia again, where he was decidedly less conflicted and worried, in general, there was still a base level of stress associated with traveling anywhere with Peter and Lucy. Particularly when one went wandering off alone.

Waking to find them both out of sight of their humble little campsite was mildly annoying. Hearing Lucy’s voice not long afterward was concerning. 

Edmund didn’t bother with the still smoking remains of the fire, but shook Susan awake immediately and snapped Trumpkin’s name. This wasn’t a time for cautious wake up calls.

“Peter!”

They crested the hill in time to interrupt… nothing. Peter was just standing there, as was a Telmarine boy. 

“High King Peter?”

Peter turned back to the boy—Caspian, Edmund assumed. “I believe you called.”

“Well yes, but… I thought you’d be older.”

“Well, if you’d like, we can come back in a few years.” 

Edmund fought the urge to roll his eyes. In any other situation, he might have applauded his brother’s sass. But Peter never did have great timing.

“No!” Caspian shouted. “No, that’s alright. You’re just…” 

Caspian surveyed the four of them, and Edmund forced himself to look aside, to focus on anything but the distinct feeling of not measuring up to whatever image the prince had held of them. Beyond Caspian, Edmund was surprised to see who’d gathered.

“You’re not exactly what I expected,” Caspian’s confessed.

“Neither are you,” Edmund countered, nodding toward the odd collection of Narnians and Fell Beasts. He had thought the scene had looked strange when he arrived, a Telmarine holding Peter’s sword, but this was something else altogether.

“A common enemy unites even the oldest of foes,” announced a badger, as if it were explanation enough.

“We have anxiously awaited your return, my liege,” announced another, higher, squeakier voice. “Our hearts and swords are at your service.”

“Oh my gosh, he is so cute.” Lucy appeared to have found the source quicker than he did.

“Who said that?!” The mouse turned on a dime, gripping his sword hilt.

“Sorry.”

“Oh, uh… your majesty. With the greatest respect, I do believe courageous, courteous or chivalrous might more befit a knight of Narnia.”

Edmund frowned, but only briefly. It was too complicated to think about how or when such a mouse would have been knighted.

“Well, at least we know some of you can handle a blade.”

“Yes, indeed!” The mouse confirmed. “And I have recently put it to good use acquiring weapons for your army, sire.”

“Good, because we’re going to need every sword we can get.”

“Well then.” Caspian turned Rhindon in his hands, hilt first toward Peter. “You’ll probably be wanting yours back.”

Peter took it, and after watching him walk away toward the Narnians, Edmund looked up to see Caspian eyeing the rest of them once more. He made no move to pick up his own sword, so Edmund did it for him, testing the weight out of habit.

“It’s heavier than I expected,” he commented, handing it back.

“Is it?”

Caspian looked at him with such open interest, Edmund almost didn’t blame Peter for his attitude. The prince was eager, but he was doubtful, too. Cautious, as though he hadn’t done anything of this sort before. 

Then, it hit him. 

Caspian  _ was  _ young. Too young, according to Trumpkin, to have been crowned king according to traditional Telmarine law. It was entirely likely that he wouldn’t have done anything like this before. He looked about Peter’s age, but the fight they were facing was something else entirely from the Battle at Beruna. Caspian would be facing his own people, family even.

Edmund forced himself back to the subject at hand before he lost himself in what used to be. “Only a bit. Are all Telmarine swords like it?”

“Not all, but they aren’t quite like yours, either,” Caspian answered, nodding to the sword at his hip.

“No, they wouldn’t be,” he confirmed, resting his left hand on the hilt. Though he’d carried many different swords and often more than one at a time, the one from his chest at Cair Paravel was unique. It wasn’t a gift in the same way Rhindon was for Peter. But it was a product of his own trials, earned. He cared for that more, in a way. 

“Is the weight a bad thing?”

“Heavier swords just typically mean stronger grips and wider swings,” he said simply, then looked back to where Caspian stood. “Aren’t you coming?” 

Edmund wanted to know what he knew. At this point, it would only help to learn what they could about what they were going to be up against.

General Glozelle shifted uncomfortably under Miraz’s stare. He knew he was in a difficult predicament, he just wasn’t sure how difficult.

“How much did they take?”

“Enough weapons for three regiments,” he answered, before reaching for the door of the wagon. “And that’s not all.”

Lowering it, he revealed the markings they’d found earlier, etched into the wood. 

“You were right to fear the woods,” Miraz read.

“X?” Sopespian asked, standing off a ways, but clearly not far enough.

“Caspian… the Tenth.”

Glozelle swallowed and stepped forward “I had my orders, my lord. The blame is mine.”

“I know,” Miraz answered dryly, before glancing over his shoulder to three of his soldiers. “Tell me, how many men were killed?”

“None, sir.” He hadn’t had anyone watching the wagons. That was why they’d lost the weapons in the first place. That was where the problem originated.

“None?” the lord pressed.

“They… they came like ghosts in the dead of night.” 

“Then how do you explain your injuries?”

The general frowned. He had no injuries, no one did. He hadn’t even seen anyone get into or out of the camp. 

He certainly didn’t see Miraz’s swing up to his face.

“I asked,” Lord Miraz started again. “How many men were killed in this bloody Narnian attack, of which you were the fortunate survivor?”

Lip bleeding, Glozelle looked from Miraz, to Sopespian, and then to the sword Miraz was offering him. 

“General. How many?”

He cast a cautious look back at his men, then took the sword. 

“Three.”

Miraz lifted his chin, satisfied, and Glozelle watched as he approached his horse, needing something to focus on. Anything that would keep him from the decision he’d just made. 

“My apologies, Lord Sopespian. It appears Caspian is not the victim of this savage uprising. He is the instigator,” Miraz called, mounting his horse. “It seems Narnia is in need of a new king.”

“Narnia?” Glozelle murmured as Sopespian mounted his own horse and rode away. Was this truly Narnia, where he was faced with orders to kill his own men for the errant plans of a greedy Lord? He didn’t want to believe it, but Lord Miraz had lead him for years. He was but a general in this war. A puppeteer with strings of his own.

“General?”

He turned, sword still in hand, and faced his men. He hardly knew them, didn’t even remember their names. But if he couldn’t, then surely...

“Go.” 

“Sir?”

“I said, go. Now. Fold yourself into ranks, and say nothing.”

The three exchanged looks, but finally, did as they were told. 

Glozelle held the tension in his arms until he could no longer hear them scrambling away. As soon as they were out of earshot, he swung haphazardly, an enraged cry slipping from his lips. The blade caught in the canvas of the wagon, but there was no loss in the damage to the covering. The wagons were empty, after all.

From where she stood in their progression through the woods, Susan could hear Lucy behind her, talking to Reepicheep, the mouse, and his fellow knights. Beyond them, she knew, Edmund would be bringing up the rear. Up ahead, was Peter, though Glenstorm the centaur walked with him to guide the way. 

She had a vague idea of where they would be going, considering they weren’t far from where Aslan’s camp had been for the Battle of Beruna, but when they came out across an open field, Susan found it difficult to reconcile her memory with what she saw. The entirety of this wood had once held a number of meeting places, the more common of them being closer to the fields of Aslan’s camp, but Susan couldn’t remember a fortress like the one they approached. 

When they reached the foot of the path paved for them to enter, the looks on her siblings faces reflected much the same uncertainty as her own. Then the centaurs lined the path for them, and recognition dawned. The shift in her spine was immediate, and she barely registered the lift of her chin. It didn’t matter that they weren’t dressed in anything more formal, or that their crowns were absent. It was a royal procession. Something her bones remembered without her prompting. Susan and her siblings walked forward together, as they had with Aslan centuries ago, down the pathway and into the fortress as the kings and queens they had once been. To some, she supposed they still were. 

What they found inside was in sharp contrast to the bright walls of Cair Paravel, but it felt safe. And there were more Narnians here than she’d seen thus far. That alone was a welcome change.

“It may not be what you are used to, but it is defensible,” Caspian reassured, before allowing them the opportunity to venture further into the caves.

Susan considered the prince as she wandered down one of the hallways. She knew Peter held a bit of contempt for him, even if he would never admit it. But Susan was willing to give Caspian the benefit of the doubt, no matter his Telmarine origins. Besides that, he was attractive. He looked kind and soft-hearted, a bit naive, perhaps, but it wasn’t as though she had any right to hold that against him. She hadn’t known what it would take to lead a people at the beginning either.

As though her thoughts brought them into being, she noticed what surrounded her in the corridor she’d chosen, effectively pulling her thoughts away from Caspian. Paintings and carvings covered the walls in a stretch of the tunnels, and while she recognized certain scenes from her own memory, others were only known to her by stories from her siblings. 

“Susan?”

She turned to face Lucy, and after sharing one look between them, they turned back for the others.

“Peter, you may want to see this,” she called, standing in the archway overlooking the open workspace he and Edmund had yet to leave. Before long, however, they’d all returned back to the paintings, even Caspian

“It’s us.”

“What is this place?” Lucy asked, her fingers tracing the painting of Mr. Tumnus with his umbrella and scarf out near Lantern’s Waste, by the lamppost that had started and ended their last adventure in Narnia.

“You don’t know?” 

Caspian asked it as though they should, but Susan couldn’t remember hearing of anything like this in all their time. Beyond that, there were centuries they knew so little about. 

He took a torch from the wall and led them further into the heart of the fortress into a larger cavern. When he set the flame of his torch to a trough of oil, the racing flames drew their eyes around the room. A pang of guilt shot through Susan at the sight of the carvings along the walls. The centaurs and satyrs and fauns. Gryphons and other Animals, Narnians all, dressed both in battle gear and traditional court attire. 

Then, directly before them, was a carving of Aslan himself, set on the wall beyond the Stone Table, which was still cracked from the night he’d died.

To her right, Susan could see Edmund take a tentative step. Then, at the sound of Lucy’s gasp, he retreated back, allowing her to reach the steps before anyone else even knew he’d moved. 

She shifted uncomfortably in place, but remained where she stood. The Stone Table was special for the four of them in different ways. Peter would always see Aslan’s death as the catalyst for his journey toward kingship, toward leading the Narnians, because it came at Aslan’s request. Lucy saw it as proof of the impossible, the foundation of her unending faith. Edmund would never forget what happened here, regardless of not having been present, because he had been the reason for the sacrifice itself. But Susan…

Susan took Aslan’s sacrifice as the first of Aslan’s many acts of unexplained wonder. Several were profoundly good—saving Edmund, killing the White Witch, providing for their land. But there were others that weren’t quite so good, and the truth was, Peter had a point. Aslan had left. Left them. Left Narnia. Trumpkin said so himself. All any of then had to do for evidence was look to the Telmarines who had invaded.

“He must know what he’s doing,” Lucy said quietly from the table, and Susan was taken back to the night he walked to his death, where she had tried to convince Lucy of the very same thing. She’d been right, then. Was she still?

“I think it’s up to us, now,” Peter said quietly, after a moment, determined, and Susan decided to fall back on tradition, letting his decision stand as her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm going to be on vacation for next week's update  
> i should have wifi so the next chapter should post still  
> but i wanted to give ya'll a heads up, just in case.  
> thanks for reading along so far <333
> 
> find me on tumblr here: [@angstyloyalties](https://angstyloyalties.tumblr.com) :)  
> 


	7. Chapter 7

“It’s only a matter of time. Miraz’s men and war machines are on their way. That means those same men aren’t protecting his castle.”

It was as reassuring as it was discomforting to gather a war council here, at Aslan’s How. On the one hand, Peter was comfortable in the familiar functionality of their meeting. This was a role he knew how to play. A job he knew how to do. And yet, looking around at the Narnians gathered and at the Stone Table, he felt how acutely this was nothing like a council at Cair Paravel, or even amid the battlefields from across Narnia. 

“What do you propose we do, your majesty?”

“We-”

“Our-”

He cut a look to Caspian, who held it at first then conceded.

“Our only hope is to strike them before they strike us,” Peter stated, hoping he appeared more confident than he felt.

“But that’s crazy. No one has ever taken that castle.” 

“There’s always a  _ first  _ time.”

“We’ll have the element of surprise,” Trumpkin supplied.

“But we have the advantage  _ here _ ,” Caspian countered.

“If we dig in, we could probably hold them off indefinitely.” 

Peter tried not to feel betrayed by Susan siding with Caspian. Neither of them were wrong, exactly, and Susan had often provided sound council, but there was something about the walls at the How that kept him from hearing her voice of reason now.

He turned to Caspian. “Look, I appreciate what you’ve done. But this isn’t a fortress. It’s a tomb.”

“Yes,” Edmund’s voice reassured him. Arguments over battle strategy had always been a bitter affair between them. The last thing Peter needed was to fight this war alone. “And if the Telmarines are smart, they’ll just starve us out.”

“We could collect nuts!”

“Oh yes, and throw them at the Telmarines!” Reepicheep drawled before shushing the squirrel and turning back to Peter. “I think you know where I stand on this, my liege.”

Taking a breath, he looked around to the council gathered. Caspian might not agree, but Edmund was with him, as were a number of the Narnians. Susan looked conflicted, but she had always been the best at seeing the advantages of multiple sides. She would come around, Peter was sure of it. 

He turned to Glenstorm. “If I can get your troops in, can you handle the guards?”

There was a moment when he wasn’t sure what the centaur would say. He held himself much the same was Oreius had. Solemnly, without giving much indication of his opinion as he contemplated a situation or proposal. Level headed, he was a sure thinker. But also, like Oreius, his first pledge to Peter was a serious one. 

“Or die trying, my liege.”

“That’s what I’m worried about.”

Lucy. 

Peter had almost forgotten she was there. “Sorry?”

“Well, you’re all acting like there are only two options: Dying here, or dying there.”

He shook his head. They would take Miraz’s castle, he was sure of it. “I’m not sure you’ve really been listening, Lu.”

“No,  _ you’re  _ not listening.’ she insisted. “Or have you forgotten who really defeated the White Witch, Peter?”

Lucy knew that despite the truth in what she said, Peter wouldn’t listen. She watched him freeze at her accusation, with the distinct knowledge that although she had only wished for him to take the slightest bit of caution and look at this from a step back, her brother would do no such thing. 

“I think we’ve waited for Aslan long enough.” 

He spoke with a finality that she didn’t dare counter. This was the High King Peter speaking, not her brother. Perhaps at Cair Paravel, she would would have challenged him and laid it all out on the table for him. Explained it softly, in private, but not here. Not with a full council and certainly not with all the preparations they had to make. Here and now, Peter’s plan was the one they would follow, because she did not have the voice or the stature. It was like they’d forgotten.

Still, Lucy refused to let her shoulders fall until after the room was nearly empty. 

“Don’t worry, Lu. I’ll talk to him.”

She shook her head, briefly. Words would not help Peter in this, but Edmund had already turned his back and was slipping from the room.

“It’ll be alright,” Susan offered, setting a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“I know,” Lucy smiled lightly. “I’m just worried. It’s not like we know a whole lot about the castle.”

“I do.” Caspian stepped forward, joining them from the side of the Stone Table where he had retreated to after Peter’s underhanded reprimand. “Though I can’t say I have much faith in the idea.”

“They’re good at what they do. I’m sure it will be a solid plan,” Lucy defended. “It’s just... I’m more concerned that it’s the wrong one.”

“Then you should come up with the right one. Here.”

She frowned, looking at Susan. “We’ll hardly have time. Besides, how am I supposed to come up with a new plan of attack if we’re going to raid the castle?”

Susan shook her head. “I don’t think you should go on this one, Lu.”

“But—”

“No. It’s like you said, we can’t know what we’ll face at Miraz’s castle. Besides that, you’re too young.”

“Susan!” Too young. How long had they used that excuse before realizing it would be better to train her than to keep her safe? How long had it taken for her to convince them she deserved to see the difficulties of war and death just the same as they did, for the sake of their people. It stung for Susan to be the one to suggest she stay, when Lucy had gone to battle more often than she had.

At the very least, Susan had the good sense to look guilty, but it didn’t seem to change her mind. And Caspian, who remained decidedly silent on the matter, looked suddenly like he had nothing to offer. 

“Come on, Lu. You saw the weapons Reepicheep and the others brought with them. It’ll be a miracle to get any of that to even fit me properly, let alone you. And someone’s got to look after the boys. You know how they can be in a fight.” 

“Yes, I do. And they’ll look after each other like they always do. But who’ll look after you?”

“I’ll be fine,” Susan dismissed. “Besides, one of us has to stay here, remember? Just in case.”

The thought hadn’t crossed her mind, but now that it had, Lucy didn’t have anything more to say. There were too many memories of staying at Cair Paravel alone while her siblings were off on some battle field. Too many campaigns that never seemed to end despite how quickly battle always seemed to go. Lucy hated the idea of being alone, of having to wait. But Susan was right. They would need another plan, just in case. The boys were as unlikely to stay behind to come up with one as she was of going with them, and Susan, at least, had the advantage of distance with her bow. It made the most sense for Lucy to stay put, as much as she hated it.

“Fine, but we’re starting the rotation over after this, and Peter’s first,” Lucy said decisively. Without waiting for a response, she slipped from the Table and stood with her head held as high as her child’s body would allow. Then, she turned to Caspian who looked surprised to be remembered.

“Prince Caspian. I ask you to ensure that my royal sister and brothers return here safely. Do you accept?” It was an unfair request, Lucy knew. Especially when he wasn’t sure of the plan himself. But if she couldn’t make sure they all returned unharmed herself, this was the best she could do.

The surprise slipped from his face the way light chased away darkness, abruptly and with confidence. Lucy returned his nod with a simple smile for thanks.

Though Susan said nothing of the exchange, Lucy caught one of her rarer smiles when she turned back. The ones that pulled at the corners of her eyes more than they did her lips. It settled the ache in Lucy’s heart a bit, enough to know she could bear the weight of whatever was to come.

“Come on, Caspian,” she said. “They’ll want to pick your brain about the castle.”

The Pevensies were nothing like what Caspian had expected, though it couldn’t be helped that they were nearly as young as they had been when they first fought for Narnia. There was a magic in their return that he didn’t understand, but he had held such vivid images of the four in his mind… It was jarring to see them now, as children, dressed not in fine silks and jewels, but leather jerkins and cotton skirts. 

Queen Lucy was as outspoken as he had hoped, and despite the pressure of her request, Caspian was comforted by her faith in him. He’d already felt under-qualified, buried up to his nose in responsibility. It was a burden he wasn’t sure he could shoulder, but Lucy’s opinion and trust in him was a life line, just as Susan’s support had been during the council.

He missed their company when they left him with Peter and Edmund, at the entryway to one of the rooms on the lower levels of the How, mentioning something about checking on supplies and managing some practice as they skirted away. 

“We can’t keep waiting around, Ed. You know that better than I do!”

“I’m not saying we should, but think about it. We know nothing about the castle.”

“Are you saying I should apologize?”

“No, of course not. I’m just… Lucy and the others had a point, is all.”

“Who’s side are you on?”

Edmund’s expression remained miraculously neutral, but Caspian caught the slip in the High King’s expression as the line of tension lengthened between them. 

“You know the answer to that, Peter.” Edmund’s words were clear. Precise and final, he sounded just as regal as the High King had sounded earlier in his response to Lucy.

But there was a difference. 

Peter’s kingship was as loud as the day was bright, a breathtaking force of clear authority that none with any sense would dare to challenge. Edmund’s was a whisper in the night, a lurking shadow that threatened to swallow whole anyone foolish enough to defy him. Neither boy was warm or welcoming in the way Susan and Lucy were. But perhaps that was why their reign had been as great as it was. It was balanced.

Caspian ignored the creeping thought that he paled by comparison, woefully naive and untried as a leader, and stepped tentatively into the room. He felt he was careful in his approach, but Edmund caught notice of him before he’d made it a full two strides toward them. The younger king gave no indication of how he felt by Caspian’s presence, but he preferred Edmund’s indifference toward him over the deafening displeasure in Peter’s face.

Besides, Edmund had seemed responsive to what information he had provided earlier in the day, on their way through the wood. Accepting, at the very least, if not appreciative of what he could provide.

“Caspian. What is it?”

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” he started, pleased to find the shake of his nerves had not reached his voice. “I just thought that you might benefit from my knowledge of the castle.”

“We would. Come in.” Edmund gestured for him to approach. “It’s been some time since either of us have been to Telmar. Hasn’t it, Pete?”

Peter grumbled something of a response, but nodded at Edmund’s lingering glance. 

“The castle’s as old as the kingdom, but it’s been added to in the past few centuries.” Caspian offered. He unbuckled his dagger from his belt and set the tip of the sheath to the dirt between them.

“There’s quite a long bridge to the castle itself, with a gate at either end, but it’s the inner gate that will be the larger issue. The mechanism resides within the walls of the courtyard.”

“We’ll need to open it from inside, then,” Peter mused, before sharing a look with Edmund.

“The Doctor… my professor, his rooms are in the north tower. We could get in that way. We’d be furthest from the gates, but it’s the least guarded, of the whole castle.” Caspian explained while marking crosses on his map in the dirt. “Moreover, the bell tower is here to the east, just beyond the inner gate, here.”

“How many guards?”

“Two along each wall, with one relief each about halfway through the night. And a single guard in the bell tower.”

“We’ll need the gryphons to help us in.” Edmund resolved after a moment before looking up at him. “Which point is the highest?”

“This one, across the main courtyard.”

“I’ll take that one then, and signal the troops once we’ve secured the bells and taken care of Miraz. What do you think, Pete? Two of us for the bell tower, a few others to handle the guards.”

Peter nodded. “That’s about as many as I’m willing to risk.”

The line stuck with Caspian, and he watched quietly for a moment, before slipping away when the discussion shifted from details of the castle to numbers and alternative options. 

It was clear that whatever had passed between the brothers before was gone now. What remained was something more than he was ready for. It wasn’t the ease in their discussions. It was the seriousness they had for what they spoke of, and maybe it was emphasized by their apparent youth, but talk of risk and responsibility seemed heavier here than he’d experienced before.

He had been present in war chambers before, privy to several planning and strategy meetings with his father and uncle. But he could see now that those meetings had been nothing but a flourish of power and greed. His father had been a great leader, and Miraz was too, to have gathered the support he already had thus far. But with Peter and Edmund, he could see there was something more to leading a people than simply declaring which lands to claim next. 

“You’re alive.”

“Alive?” He looked up. “What do you… Oh, Queen Su-”

“Please,” she interrupted. “Just Susan is fine. And I just mean that you must have proven useful to at least one of them, if you’re all still in one piece.”

He ducked his head, but a smile formed anyways. He couldn’t help that.

“So, I take it you explained about the castle before they kicked you out of there.”

“Enough for now, I hope,” he answered. “And the… weapons? Are they to your liking?”

“Some of the pieces are a bit different from what I remember, but I suppose I won’t have much need for them. The dwarves know what they’re doing, anyway,” she said in a neutral tone, though a smile did flicker, as if she was trying to hide her amusement. “And Windmane said it wouldn’t be hard to refashion some of the leather armor to better suit me and the boys.” 

“Good, good. I’m glad,” Caspian nodded, folding his fingers together in an effort to calm his nerves. 

The paintings and illustrations in the storybooks and the walls of the How weren’t far off in their depictions of the Kings and Queens of Old, but none had come close to capturing Susan in the right light. Carvings could only go so far.

“I ho-”

“You wo-”

Susan’s cheeks flushed, and Caspian’s smile grew.

“I was just on my way to meet Trumpkin,” she explained. “He mentioned there were archers practicing?”

“Ah. Yes, in the fields beyond the How,” he answered. “It’s a bit of a maze through the tunnels, but I’d be happy to take you, if you’d like.”

“Please. I’d hate to keep them waiting.”

He nodded and motioned for her to head down the hallway. Before long, he had to take one of the torches from the wall to continue lighting their way.

“I’m surprised at the carvings here,” Susan commented, after awhile. “Some of them, anyways.”

“What do you mean?”

“I guess I just didn’t expect for so many of them to be of battle, or for those in particular to be so gruesome.”

“I, uh…” He cleared his throat, taken aback by the observation. “I expect whoever put them here wanted to make sure they were accurate.”

Susan didn’t respond, but Caspian wasn’t sure what more he could say. He’d never contemplated the possibility that the history painted throughout the tunnels could be anything more than just that—a recounting of Narnia’s trials and victories from its Golden Age. Though he hadn’t explored all the tunnels, he had noticed scenes of tournaments and picnics and sea voyages amid the more bloody depictions of battlefields and war. Altogether, Aslan’s How was a record of a greater time, complete with good and bad. 

Still, he had always looked at the carvings as a Telmarine from generations after. Even the Narnians were closer to the events than he would ever be. And, Susan and her siblings were the closest of them all. The scenes surrounding them were of their lives from centuries past, and yet somehow, not so long ago. 

There again was the magic he couldn’t quite grasp. The one that made the Pevensies young and old all at once. Though with the look in Susan’s eye, misty and a bit glossed as they stepped out of the tunnels into the light of the early evening and the fields out beyond the How, Caspian wondered if it wasn’t so great a magic after all. 

It had brought him the heroes of legend, brought Narnia its saviors. But what had it given them in return?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudo & comments are more than welcome!  
> and i'd love a chat over on tumblr if you'd like  
> [@angstyloyalties](https://angstyloyalties.tumblr.com) :)  
> see you here next friday :)


	8. Chapter 8

The plan was clear enough. They had gone over it several times before leaving the How, and again on the way to the castle. It was a day’s march with their smaller numbers, so Caspian tried not to spend the time thinking about whether there were too few or too many in their troops to handle the guards they were expecting. 

By the time they reached the wood closest to the outer gate that evening, Caspian felt the adrenaline more than he did the worry, and he could see it in the others as well. 

Not long after nightfall, Edmund left on a gryphon to reach the tower on the far side of the courtyard. At his first signal, Caspian, Susan, Peter, and Trumpkin followed. He took one guard down along the first wall, Susan shot another further in who had noticed the torch light, and Peter made short work of the last guard once they landed at the northern tower. 

From there, he, Susan and Peter climbed down toward the professor’s study while Trumpkin continued on for the bell tower, where Reepicheep and his mice would meet him.

Caspian knocked on the window lightly. “Professor?”

When no answer came, he opened the window and stepped in. But the study was empty. Then he found the glasses, placed haphazardly as if thrown. 

“I have to find him.”

“You don’t have time,” Peter countered. “You have to get to the gatehouse.”

“You wouldn’t even be here without him. And neither would I,” he challenged. He would not leave the professor.

Susan and Peter exchanged a quick look. “We can take care of Miraz.”

“And I can still make it to the gatehouse in time,” Caspian insisted, thanking Susan silently for her ability to see reason. 

Before Peter could argue, and before he could waste more time, he turned and ran.

His feet led him to the dungeons, as if they knew the professor would not be asleep in a bed elsewhere in the castle, but rather in a cell. It was where Caspian himself would likely be, if Miraz’s men had caught him in the woods.

The dungeons weren’t guarded, as there was hardly any reason when the prisoner was a simple scholar, so Caspian was quick to unlocking the cell and waking him up.

“Five more minutes?” A smile played on his lips as the man woke.

“What are you doing here?” Doctor Cornelius asked. “I did not help you escape just so you could get captured again. You have to get out before Miraz learns you’re here.”

“He’ll learn soon enough. We are giving him your cell,” Caspian explained, helping him to stand.

“Do not underestimate Miraz, as your father did.”

He stopped, a chill running rapidly up his spine. “What are you talking about?”

The professor dipped his head, but it was seriousness in his tone of his apology that told Caspian what he needed to know. In fact, it pushed all else from his mind, and almost before Cornelius finished, Caspian was gone again. This time, the gatehouse was the furthest thing from his mind as he headed for his uncle’s chambers.

The guard outside was a simple matter, not expecting any intruders, and before long, Caspian was holding the tip of his sword against Miraz’s throat. Light pressure was all it took for him to wake.

“Thank goodness, you’re safe,” his uncle drawled.

“Get up,” Caspian demanded. 

Miraz climbed out of bed carefully, and Caspian allowed him the space to do so, but only just. 

On the other side of the bed, Prunaprismia sat up. “Caspian?

“Stay where you are.”

“What are you doing?”

“I should think it’s obvious, dear,” Miraz told her, though he kept his eyes on Caspian. “You know, some might consider this inappropriate behavior.”

“That doesn’t seem to have stopped you,” Caspian snapped back, searching for some sign, any sign, that Miraz had done what the professor had insinuated. 

“But you are not like me, are you?” Miraz countered, and Caspian wondered if maybe he was actually searching for a sign that he hadn’t done it. 

“It’s sad. The first time you show any backbone, and it’s such a waste,” Miraz complained, as if disappointed in Caspian’s hesitation to kill him. 

“Put the sword down, Caspian!” Prunaprismia had drawn the crossbow from the wall and had it aimed at him. “I don’t want to do this.”

“We don’t want you to, either!” Susan entered, and from the sound of a sword being drawn, she wasn’t alone.

“This used to be a private room,” Miraz muttered, as if everything was a joke. Caspian pressed the tip of his sword back to his neck to assure him this was no laughing matter.

“Caspian, what are you doing? You’re supposed to be at the gatehouse!”

“No!” he shouted back. “Tonight, for once, I want the truth!”

He stared at Miraz, his uncle, the man who had, for years since his father’s death, been something of a father figure to him, himself. Never quite so caring or loving, and certainly not his favorite, but family still. 

“Did you kill my father?”

“Now we get to it.”

“You told me your brother died in his sleep.”

“That was more or less true,” Miraz answered his wife, nonchalantly, as if it didn’t make a difference how Caspian’s father had died, just that he had. 

He stepped forward, backing Miraz up against the window, and repeated the question. “Did you kill my father?”

“Caspian, this won’t make things any better,” Susan called, but with his anger, there was no room left for reason and logic. 

“We Telmarines would have nothing had we not taken it. Your father knew that as well as anyone.”

“How could you?” Prunaprismia asked, seeming to have lost a bit of her nerve.

“For the same reason you will pull that trigger!” Miraz answered his wife, stepping forward.

Caspian, for all that he wished he wouldn’t, retreated. “Stop! Stay right there!”

“For our son!” Miraz continued, advancing. “You must choose, my dear. Do you want our child to be king, or do you want him to be like Caspian here? Fatherless?” 

“No!” Prunaprismia shouted, but the twang of a bowstring was all Caspian heard before a pain blossomed through his arm and he stumbled back, away from an already retreated Miraz.

When he righted himself, only he, Peter and Susan remained in the room. The look between them was murderous, but there was no time for anything but escaping, now. The bells were ringing.

He hadn’t meant to drop his torch. In fact, it was the last thing Edmund should have done, but the night was too quiet and the castle seemed severely under-guarded. He was, regrettably bored. Luckily, the light had not dropped down to the courtyard. Unfortunately, by the time he got down to the lower landing, a soldier had picked it up and turned it on, shining a beam of light into the sky. It was not the right signal, but Edmund could only hope the Narnians would wait for the proper one as he steeled himself to get it back.

The tolling of the bells was a departure from their plan, just as his current fight with the soldier was. He nearly had the torch again when he heard Peter’s voice. 

“Now, Ed, now! Signal the troops!”

“I’m a bit busy, Pete!” He called back over his shoulder to the courtyard below, as if it made a difference. Everything was already going so horribly wrong. There weren’t many soldiers now, but there would be more coming. The bells were still ringing.

The fight with the soldier was quickly turning south, but where the Telmarine only had his sword, Edmund had the torch as well. When he finally knocked the soldier out, however, he realized the flaw to his plan.

“Oh, no.” He shook it, toggling the switch back and forth, desperate for the light to turn on properly.

Below, Peter was at the gate, with Susan and Caspian. They was too far to hear what they were saying, but then, just as the torch beam turned on, he saw all three turning the wheel. He signaled the troops in time with the gate and collected his sword. 

“For Narnia!” Peter’s rallying cry kicked off the charge against a rapidly filling courtyard. Narnians and Telmarines alike were ready to fight, and for a moment, Edmund just watched from his vantage point. Scanning the scene, he saw an archer with his sights trained on Peter—taking it as his cue to join in the fun he hopped over the roof’s lid and down the stone straight into the Telmarine.

The crash of a body drew Peter’s line of sight up to see Edmund on the balcony above, next to an entire line of archers.

“Ed!”

Peter watched long enough to see his brother dive out of sight, and already forgetting the incident, turned to Miraz, who appeared across the courtyard by the stairs. 

Peter made his way up, knocking soldiers down as he went, and minotaur—Tyrus he thought his name was—joined him, jumping further than Peter could climb to reach Miraz’s balcony far faster. 

But despite the minotaur’s size, Miraz seemed unfazed, leaving Peter to watch from his position on the stairs, caught between Telmarine soldiers, as the beast fell. He knocked into part of the courtyard walls as he went, spraying debris among Telmarines and Narnians alike. Shortly after him, Trumpkin tumbled from the bell tower up above.

“Get that gate closed!” Miraz ordered.

As if frozen, Peter could only watch as all around him, Narnians were knocked about. Then, a pit in his stomach grew as Asterius, another of the few minotaurs who had elected to join them, caught the rapidly falling gate. 

Despite his size, the iron was too heavy. He would not be able to hold it for long. 

“Fall back! Retreat!” Peter shouted, jumping from the stairs. “We need to retreat now!”

He ran into the courtyard, telling everyone to get out, until he caught sight of Susan and then Glenstorm. 

“Go! Get her out of here!” He pointed, watching until she was safely on the centaur’s back and headed to the gate.

“Caspian!” she shouted back to him.

“I’ll find him!” Peter promised, before ushering more Narnians to escape, where he could see Asterius struggling with the weight as an arrow struck him in the legs.

Caught between the archers on the balcony and soldiers rushing up the stairs, Edmund was forced back to his landing on the eastern tower. He jammed the door with his torch, before searching the crowds below. Susan had gotten through the gate and across the bridge, and Caspian was coming out now with a spare horse toward Peter. The group of Narnians outside the gate with Susan was small, but their original numbers had been small to begin with and in the darkness, it was hard to tell who inside the courtyard was a Narnian and who was a Telmarine, save for those on the upper levels.

Then, the door shifted, and Edmund had no more time to contemplate numbers. He backed up, keeping as much distance between him and the door as possible and peered behind him, over the edge. 

There, not far below, was his gryphon. Never one to turn his back to an enemy, Edmund faced the soldiers in front of him and tipped backward through the opening in the edge. 

He caught himself on the gryphon’s wing and shifted as quickly and painlessly as possible onto its back before they soared high above the castle, out of range from any arrows.

Edmund surveyed the scene below as they circled, just in time to see the gate drop on Asterius. This time, the divide was clear, and the number of Narnians left trapped inside was greater than those who had made it outside. Greater still were the number of Telmarine soldiers still awaiting Miraz’s orders.

The remaining Narnians charged, but it showed nothing more than their honor. But Edmund knew he and the others could not stop now to pay proper respect to it and as he joined the others, he felt the swell of an age old feeling he wished he could forget.

There was often an expectation to lose soldiers in battle. To have a death count was rather unavoidable, but to have forsaken any invoked a certain kind of horror. 

Edmund felt it in the pit of his stomach, and he could see it in Peter, down below. Not so much in his face—though given his tendency to wear his emotions on his sleeve, Ed was sure it was evident there as well—but in how high he held his horse’s reins and how he sat twisted in his saddle, unable to turn his back completely. 

The pain seemed to have cut through his body, the same way it pressed against Edmund’s heart. And when he passed Susan, ready to touch down again, he caught it in the hollow well of her eyes. 

This was a night none of them would forget for years to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> personally, i felt the decision to add this raid scene into the movie was a good one. i can't watch it without crying. there wasn't a whole lot i wanted to add to it, or change to be honest, so there isn't much to this chapter. hopefully the additions/changes i make from here through to the end make up for it.
> 
> see you next week!


	9. Chapter 9

The growing chatter of Narnians from within the How pulled Lucy from her thoughts as she waited on the Stone Table. She’d spent the better part of the evening there, waiting either for word to reach her of a successful siege of the castle, or for someone to come collect her and the remaining Narnians altogether. Outside, she realized it was neither. The army approached, truncated. Frantically, her eyes darted among the faces. 

Peter, Susan, and Edmund were there. She saw a familiar dread in their faces, but at least they were alive. A glance through the haphazard ranks told her that many others weren’t.

“What happened?” Lucy asked. 

“Ask _him_.” 

“Peter,” Susan admonished, her face torn between the pain of battle and the same disappointment as there had been back in England.

“Me?” Caspian countered, incredulous. “You could have called it off. There was still time.”

“No, there wasn’t. Thanks to you. If you’d kept to the plan, those soldiers might be alive right now.”

The pair stopped amidst the long walkway back into the How, between the Narnians who’d stayed and those who returned. There seemed to be so few on either side now.

“And if you’d just stayed here like _I_ suggested, they definitely would be!”

“You called _us_ , remember?”

“My first mistake.”

“No. Your first mistake was thinking you could lead these people.”

Peter turned to stomp his way into the How, but Caspian clearly was not finished.

“Hey! I am not the one who abandoned Narnia.”

“You invaded Narnia. You have no more right to it than Miraz does,” Peter snapped back, angrier than Lucy had seen him in months. “You, him, your father… Narnia’s better off without the lot of you!”

They drew their swords, and it was like the fight in the Shuddering Wood all over again. Except this time, the boys knew they were supposed to be on the same side. 

“Stop it!”

Edmund’s voice was sharp, interrupting them and calling Lucy’s attention beyond Peter and Caspian to Glenstorm as the centaur stepped forward. At the sight of Trumpkin in his arms, Lucy rushed over. 

It only took one drop—it only ever took the one—but Lucy held her breath as the fire-flower cordial worked its way through his body, only relaxing when he opened his eyes.

“What are you all standing around for?” He asked gruffly to the faces that looked down at him. “The Telmarines will be here soon enough.” 

They began to shuffle out of the way. He had a point, and there was much to do, especially now. 

Then, in a softer voice, he called to Lucy. “Thank you, my dear little friend.”

She smiled, and they collectively turned toward the How, following Peter, as Caspian had already disappeared.

“That was uncalled for, don’t you think?” Susan asked, after the four of them wove their way through the halls and into the rooms the boys had been using to sleep.

“No, I don’t.”

“Peter…”

He turned on them all, eyes still wrapped in fury. “You know we didn’t abandon Narnia!”

“Of course, I do! But he doesn’t. It’s not his fault!”

“So it’s ours?”

“Stop it! Both of you!” Lucy cried, stepping between them. 

Peter stepped back and ran a hand through his hair, still frustrated. Susan stepped back as well, but didn’t stop in her retreat. She left the room and the three of them completely. 

“Lucy’s right,” Edmund said calmly, a moment later. “And so was Trumpkin. This isn’t over. Miraz’s men will be here before we know it, but we won’t stand a chance if all we’re doing is pointing fingers and blaming each other. ”

When Peter made no point to respond, even Edmund sighed. “Come on, Lucy. Let him sulk.”

Torn between her siblings, Lucy paused at the doorway before following Edmund out. “It’s not his fault, Peter. Just because he’s supposed to be king, doesn’t mean he knows how. Like us, remember?”

Across the ford at Beruna, the final pieces of the bridge across the river were finally being put into place. 

Even further away, in the great hall of the Telmarine castle, Miraz walked through to the throne among the Lords of the council. There, he sat as Sopespian placed a grand crown upon his head, with the lords pledging their troops and bowing in turn. 

Narnia had a new king.

“Are you so glad of that magic horn now, boy?”

Caspian turned from the walls where the faces of the monarchs of legend filled him with guilt, to Nikabrik who taunted his failure.

“The kings and queens have failed us. Your army is half dead. And those that aren’t, will be soon enough.”

“What do you want? A congratulations?” He bit out.

“You want your uncle’s blood. So do we. You want his throne. We can get it for you.”

Nikabrik offered no more explanation before walking away. But as vague as he was, Caspian was still curious, desperate. He wanted nothing more than to prove himself worthy. Following the dwarf, they ended up in the Stone Table room.

“You tried one ancient power. It failed. But there is a power greater still. One that kept even Aslan at bay for nearly a hundred years.”

They circled the table until they stood between it and the carving of Aslan. When they heard someone approach, he thought, perhaps, it would be the Lion himself.

Instead, a cloaked figure approached out of the shadows, prompting Caspian to draw his sword.

“Who’s there?”

“I am hunger, I am thirst. I can fast for a hundred years and not die. I can lie a hundred nights on the ice and not freeze. I can drink a river of blood and not burst. Show me… our enemies!”

The figure removed his hood, revealing himself to be a werewolf. But before he could come to any real conclusion about him, Caspian noticed a second figure beyond the first—a hag, approaching quickly. 

“You… You can guarantee Miraz’s death?”

“And more,” the hag confirmed.

Cautiously, Caspian put away his sword and looked back to Nikabrik. At his nod, the hag smiled a crooked grin.

“Let the circle be drawn.”

The werewolf drew it around him on the ground, and Caspian listened carefully to the words that left the hag’s lips. But for all he tried, the words were of an impossible language. What looked more impossible still, was the stick the hag produced. Shining and reflective, but sharp and broken at one end. It struck Caspian as something familiar, but he couldn’t place it until after the hag stuck it into the ground and ice climbed up between the pillars of the archway. The ice wall covered the image of Aslan, and within it, another face appeared.

Caspian had heard the stories of the Golden Age countless times, but none so much as the beginning, where the four children had yet to be crowned and needed first, to defeat the White Witch. He recognized her immediately.

“Wait… this isn’t what I wanted!” 

“One drop of Adam’s blood and you free me. Then I am yours, my king.”

“No!” 

The hag took his wrist, holding it out toward the wall after breaking the skin of his hand to release the smallest pinprick of blood. He knew he shouldn’t, but the longer he stood there, the less he seemed to understand why. A cool wave of acceptance washed over him, and he reached just slightly further.

“Stop!” 

The werewolf left them, as did the hag, but though Caspian could hear the clash of metal and shouts of pain, he could not see anything beyond the witch in the ice ahead of him. 

“Get away from him!”

It was Peter who knocked him from the circle, allowing warmth to return to his body in waves. But if he thought the entire ordeal was over, he was wrong. 

“Peter dear… I have missed you. Come, just one drop.” 

The Witch’s voice pulled at them both, but while Caspian could feel his own strength returning and remained where he was, Peter looked a bit at a loss, sword point held tentatively out to the wall of ice.

“You know you can’t do this alone,” the White Witch continued, reaching toward Peter, almost pushing through the boundaries of the ice itself.

Peter hesitated and Caspian saw the dip of his sword, but a groan from the White Witch called his attention and he turned back in time to see the wall crack. 

When it shattered, Edmund stood behind it, sword still raised.

“Ed, I—”

“I know,” he said coldly, cutting Peter off. “You had it sorted.” 

Caspian had not seen the dark depths of his glare before, with the weight of centuries shining in the reflection. But the glare was not directed as him. 

Judgement, quick and brief as it was, fell on Peter. 

A breath passed and Edmund turned from the ice and left with Trumpkin and Lucy trailing behind. Caspian’s gaze lingered on the carving of Aslan, revealed now to them all, and the sorrow in his chest sunk heavily. But when he turned to the entrance across the Stone Table, desperate to apologize for what he’d done, it wasn’t Edmund who was there. 

Susan regarded both Caspian and Peter, who still stood beside him, with a clouded expression, disappointed and angry. Then even she walked out, leaving them to their guilt.

“We’ve made a right mess of things, haven’t we?” Peter muttered, several long moments later.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize what Nikabrik was doing.” It felt shallow, this explanation. A screen behind which to hide that all could see through, but Peter did not speak to it. Instead, the king remained silent, and Caspian’s eyes drifted over to the dwarf’s body, beyond the werewolf and the hag. Their bodies, the ice, and the cruel circle drawn at their feet were all that remained of what they’d just faced. What _he_ had just caused. 

Peter kicked a block of ice, sending it scraping and sliding across the stone floor. Caspian cringed at the feel of it, resounding in his chest. 

“I didn’t m—” he tried.

“It’s fine.” Peter’s expression was as sharp as his voice, but his shoulders sagged and the anger had been wiped clear of his face. “It isn’t your fault.” He settled against the Stone Table, holding his knees to his chest as he looked up at the carving of Aslan. Peter looked so unlike himself. Not a king. Not a hero. Just a boy. 

“I was wrong,” Caspian said, joining him on the stone steps around the table. “Back at my uncle’s castle and outside about you and your siblings.”

“It’s nothing.”

“But it isn’t,” he insisted. “Your plan was a good one, and in seeking revenge, I didn’t just put us in danger, I put all of Narnia at risk. I did it again, coming here and letting them call the White Witch.”

Peter sat quietly for awhile, turning over a piece of ice in his hands. When he finally spoke, Caspian nearly fell over despite already sitting.

“I’m the one who should be sorry.”

He had been content to wait for further judgement or simple acceptance, but this? An apology?

“I should have called everything off. You and Susan were right. And I’m just as much to blame for all of… this, as you are,” he explained, gesturing around as if not just to the ice that lay at their feet but to their circumstances at large. “I had no right to judge you for what your ancestors had done. You had already proven to be an ally to the Narnians. I should have trusted them and I should have trusted you. I just…” 

He cut himself off so abruptly Caspian couldn’t help but stare. Peter had his arms folded across his stomach, and at first, he wondered if he’d suffered some injury in the night. Then, he recognized the pattern of harsh breaths for what it was—an attempt at calming down, of returning to the present. 

Perhaps there was an injury, but it was neither recent nor physical. 

For years, Caspian had built King Peter up in his head to be this grand leader, the King of all Kings in Narnia, loyal and brave and courageous.

His desire to prove himself at Miraz’s castle, their petty fights… All of it had marred that image brutally, and yet, sitting here with Peter now, Caspian wondered if he’d simply gotten the High King wrong from the start and complicated the matter as they went along. Peter wasn’t just the king of legend, and he wasn’t just a child. He was both and neither. Something in between his title and his appearance, along with something completely outside of either. 

He was human. 

“You’re right,” Caspian sighed gently. “We have made a mess of things.”

Peter chuckled softly, not for long or with much enthusiasm, but it was still a welcome sound. “And as usual, Ed had to clean it all up.”

The implication settled uncomfortably in Caspian’s mind. The younger king’s demeanor had not been missed. 

“He, uh… he’ll be alright, won’t he?”

Peter sighed, “It’s hard to tell. He won’t let on that he isn’t, but he won’t let on that he is, either. But don’t worry about him. Ed’s more angry with me than he is with you.”

Caspian felt almost worse at hearing that. The last thing he wanted was to come between them. He started to say so, but Peter shook his head before he could get very far.

“We’ll be fine. We always are. Anyways… It’s the girls you’ll want to worry about.”

“Really?”

“You’ll lead all manner of battle campaigns when you’re king, I know I did.” He let his head tip back with a sigh. “But it always took a queen to put an end to things.”

“When I’m king?”

Peter turned his head, finding his eyes, and nodded. “It’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“Well…” Caspian fell silent, considering. He did want to be king. He’d been raised with the knowledge that one day, he would be, but the more time he spent with the Pevensies, the more he wondered if he was cut out for the job. He didn’t even have his crown yet, and it was proving more difficult than anything else he’d ever anticipated.

“It’s okay to be unsure.” 

Caspian wondered how readily he would agreed, but Peter spoke as though he was familiar with the feeling. 

“It’s natural, actually. But you’ll have plenty of help, and a full council, I’m sure.”

Slowly, he let the picture unfold before him. The councils he had been a part of thus far in his life differed vastly from one another. One was made up of a whole room of Telmarines, Lords from various corners of the kingdom. The other was of Narnian creatures and animals, many of whom he hadn’t known to truly exist until just recently. The only connection between the two, was Caspian himself, and if it weren’t for the professor, he’d have never thought to believe it when he first came across the Narnians.

“Oh!” Caspian exclaimed, standing abruptly. “I’m sorry. I need to go… The professor.”

Peter waved him off with a nod. “Go, go.”

With a brief smile of thanks, Caspian left. There was so much he needed to make up for, and so much he still needed to learn. But he felt better for where he and Peter stood now and trusted they would work better together now. He only hoped it wasn’t too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> confession time. the line the werewolf says to announce himself never made any sense to me.  
> it's in the book as well as the movie, but i still don't really understand it...  
> [@angstyloyalties](https://angstyloyalties.tumblr.com) on tumblr  
> see you here next friday :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so for anyone who's read my [once+always](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1505669) series, you'll note that the events doctor cornelius recounts in this chapter encompass events that take place in [burn the ships](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24004969). the story of peter's kids is brief, but i do have a multi-chapter fic planned that focuses on peter and nadora's relationship set roughly around the time of Horse & His Boy. (it should come before [bound to lose](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24004297/chapters/57745585) in terms of series order.) i won't lie, it's like pulling teeth to get the story right, but it _will_ happen, i promise.  
> (more notes at the end!)

After leaving Peter and Caspian, Edmund struggled to shake the chill in his hands or the resounding clatter of ice falling against stone. If he could, he might have followed Lucy to wherever she’d gone. Or waited for Susan. 

Instead, he found himself lost amid the tunnels of the How. 

They felt endless, only vaguely distinguishable by the paintings that marked the walls, but even those did little to help. His search for a quiet space proved impossible. The noise was coming from his own mind, and the events illustrated on the walls only compounded the chaos, echoing memories and stories all muddled together into a single discordant ringing Edmund couldn’t shut out. 

It made him recklessly desperate for the comfort of a castle and people from a life he’d lost, even if all he could have of them was in the pictures on the walls. But there were none here among the images he saw—the cursed White Witch, stone statues, a castle of ice, and his own traitorous self. Edmund grew rapidly helpless in a way he didn’t allow for himself unless he was alone. But he wasn’t.

“King Edmund?” 

The careful but heavy steps and the title in his address alone betrayed the doctor, and Edmund took a deep breath, schooling his expression as best as he could into a half-remembered one, curated over years of hiding and manipulating himself and everything around him. 

“Is everything alright? You look… troubled.”

He managed a sharp nod to Doctor Cornelius when he turned to him, but didn’t specify what he was confirming.

They hadn’t had much of a chance to speak on their return from Miraz’s castle. Now, Edmund could see that he was much older than he let on. His eyes were outlined in worry and exhaustion, more so than from just a few days in a dungeon. 

“Are  _ you  _ alright, professor?”

“Fine, fine. Just a bit weary.”

Edmund nodded, slower this time, before his eyes caught the stroke of pale grey and red and blue on the wall behind him, and just like that, his composure slipped.

“Your majesty?”

Edmund was too engrossed in the painting to answer. The others along this hallway depicted the end of The Hundred Year Winter, when he and his siblings had ushered spring back to Narnia. He had thought that these would as well. It was why he had come to a stop—there had to be some familiar faces nearby. But the story turned too far, shifting beyond what he had experienced.

“This battle. I don’t know it,” he admitted softly, stepping past the professor to touch the wall. Narnian red and gold collided with the blues and grays of Galma and Terebinthia.

“Oh.” 

Doctor Cornelius said so little, but there was so much in the way he spoke that the pit in Edmund’s stomach grew in recognition of what went unsaid. Suddenly, the incident with the White Witch seemed so small against what he was about to be told. Because this was an adult informing a child of something unpleasant; a soldier addressing the family of untimely death; a messenger with the unfortunate task of delivering unhappy news. 

Edmund didn’t turn from the wall, he couldn’t. The story was already coming together in his head. He just needed to know what he saw in his mind’s eye was correct.

“Tell me.” He bit back the ‘please’ that sat at the tip of his tongue.

The professor hesitated, but people rarely refused when Edmund made a request like this. The story would be told. It was just a matter of time.

“This was the end of your Golden Age.” Cornelius pointed to a few figures painted in red, not yet for their deaths, but for the kingdom. “Some fifteen years after you left, Queen Nadora passed of a late summer fever. Her children ruled together as you and your siblings did in relative peace for a quarter of a century. They were the last Narnian monarchs before the Telmarines invaded. Queen Thalia, King Oryn, and Queen Petra.”

Petra. They’d had another girl. Ed focused on the blank spaces in the paintings as he willed his fingers to steady themselves. He brought his hand back to his side, before realizing it was his shoulders that shook. 

“What happened to them?” he asked, lifting his gaze cautiously up to the scene above, full to the ceiling with the dusty dark colors of Calormen. It was a bloody mess, and he wondered who could commission the walls of the How to be decorated with this level of detail. It seemed several steps beyond proper and respectful, and yet he appreciated it still. 

“Calormen attacked Archenland in 1051, and King Oryn took aid to them at once. They maintained the border, but fought to their deaths in the desert. All the while, the island nations grew ripe with greed and disorder.”

That hardly made sense to Edmund. Not the Calormen, but their neighbors of the sea. Narnia’s relations with Terebinthia and the Seven Isles had been a positive one. Neutral at worst, perhaps. And Galma was practically family, and more akin to the Lone Islands in terms of their connection with Narnia as far as their treaties went. How had everything changed so much so quickly?

“Queen Petra married King Ram, Cor and Aravis’s son, shortly after, joining Narnia and Archenland together, and the new kingdom held for some time. But between the growing tensions from the sea and hostility to the south, it was all they could do to hold one castle, let alone two.”

Edmund knew there was nothing good in what came next: the ending. But he nodded at Cornelius’s silent query. This was what he’d needed so badly only days ago, standing upon the ruins of what had once been his home. The story of what happened. He needed it still.

“The castle at Anvard fell first and the queen returned to join her sister. Together they held Cair Paravel for a few years. But by the time Caspian I, Caspian the Conqueror, invaded, there was nothing more they could do. They fled to the woods soon after Cair Paravel fell in the middle of the winter, 1071.”

Edmund turned the numbers over in his mind, calculating the time. Narnia hadn’t even been free from the White Witch a full century before falling. He retreated back until there was nowhere to go, reaching the opposite wall, solid behind him. It may have been the only thing to keep him upright.

“Where are…” he started, frustrated at his inability to find the words. They had been his sword and shield once. Everything he needed to engage with bitter enemies of the crown—his own or that of his siblings. They were all he’d been left with when they fell back into England. But now, even they were gone. 

“Where…” he tried again feebly, unaware of when, exactly, Cornelius had taken him by his shoulders and begun to escort him gently away. 

They moved through a number of hallways until finally they were out in the open where every breath didn’t feel like a cut straight through his lungs to his heart. The ledge was sturdy and wide enough for them to sit, and he did so at the professor’s insistence.

“Queen Nadora was laid to rest at sea from the port just below Cair Paravel. And King Oryn was granted burial beside King Cor and Prince Corin, among the Archenland tombs. King Ram rests with them now as well,” Cornelius explained. 

“What about Thalia? And Petra?” Edmund pulled his legs up, feeling more like a child than he had a long time—lifetimes.

“It’s unclear where they went when they fled to the woods. I suspect the badgers would know best, but the stories vary. Some say the Narnians ventured as far west as Lantern Waste, possibly even south, into Telmar itself. Others say they kept to this side of the Shuddering Wood.” He paused, briefly, and Edmund swore the man smiled. “I like to believe they came here.”

“Here?” 

Cornelius nodded. “It’s been a privilege to see this place. The history recorded at Aslan’s How is possibly the only complete collection of the kingdom’s history beyond what pieces I’ve salvaged in my study over the years.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t be sure the queens were here at all, but the How was built not long after you and your siblings left, under Queen Nadora’s edict. It was meant to be a sacred place, a place of safety and refuge. Though, I suspect the paintings came later.”

It was a lot to take in: the end of two kingdoms, his friends, his family—all among them in the very shelter they were utilizing. It was cruel, the way their lives had turned out. But it was surprising too in the twists and turns that led them here. As if they were meant to return here where the others had been. 

Edmund sat a while longer, thankful for the professor’s help and even more for the silence he gave now. It provided him the opportunity to think and clear his head. 

Suddenly, he stood and bowed his head. “Thank you, Doctor.” 

He was glad when the old man dipped his own head in turn. Less glad to see Caspian in the entryway when he turned back toward the How.

Edmund wasn’t mad at him but granted the prince little more than a nod as he slipped by. He didn’t want to wait for pleasantries. It took too much time, and he needed to find Trufflehunter.

Peter wasn’t left alone for long after Caspian left, but where Caspian seemed eager to fill the silence with his apologies, Lucy sat with him quietly. He supposed the difference was clear enough. With Caspian, the apologies were warranted on both sides. With Lucy, Peter was the one who needed to explain himself.

A soft sigh of relief fell from his lips as she leaned her head on his shoulder. Lucy had been taller once, and older, when a quick rap on the top of his head would replace the hug in terms of Lucy’s typical response to squabbles or misunderstandings. At the moment, he much preferred this resolution over the other. 

“You’re lucky, you know.” 

It was easiest with Lucy, of all his siblings. They all understood, at least to a point, where his pain had come from. They suffered too. But where concern and judgment muddied Susan’s understanding, and Edmund’s careful observation could feel stifling, Lucy gave him space to approach things on his own time. She grew as frustrated as the others, he was certain of it, but she rarely brought that anger with her to the table. And when she did, it was warranted. He’d forgotten that. 

“What do you mean?”

“To have seen him. I wish he’d just give me some kind of proof.”

Lucy smiled at him then, not one of her wide and bright smiles, but a sad one. The smile that wasn’t truly a smile except for the fact that it was Lucy, and she was rarely without one. 

“Maybe we’re the ones who need to prove ourselves to him.”

The words hung in the air. 

Peter didn’t want them, didn’t want to embrace what they implied. Because this was where the trouble was. As helpful as his siblings were, they were equally infuriating. Not in their support of him. In that, he loved them dearly.

No, it was in the way they differed with regard to their faith in Aslan. And Lucy, who he appreciated most for her steady, unassuming encouragement, was the one he couldn’t bear to be compared with when it came to their faith in Aslan. 

There was a difference in their relationships with the lion, and despite his love for him, Peter had such a hard time with his belief. He always had, even before they left Narnia, but certainly after. As much as he wanted to trust Aslan with the same fervor that Lucy did, something still held him back. Not entirely, but just enough. 

It seemed too much, to be asked to prove himself worthy of simple reassurance when Aslan had been the one to allow them to leave Narnia to begin with. The truth was, it was too hard to trust him, and too hard not to.

Anger was easier than the guilt, easier than the pain and the hurt. The only trouble was, Peter was beginning to discover how tiresome anger could be. They had so far yet to go. There was much more left to do. And anger wasn’t the kind of fire that kept people warm. It burned in flashes, but flickered without air and sputtered when doused. Peter was running on fumes. 

“Peter, you’d better come quickly.” Edmund’s voice cut through the room and both Peter and Lucy found their brother waiting by the entrance to the chamber. Trufflehunter stood just beyond him, hands balled up together, turning worriedly.

Lucy squeezed Peter’s hand, promising, in her own way, that things would work out if they just had a bit of faith. No matter how difficult it was, or how impossible it seemed. The answers would come. 

Peter took a breath and stood. Because even if he wasn’t ready to forgive and trust Aslan again, Lucy had forgiven him and Peter trusted her without question. 

Edmund led them to an upper ridge, where Trumpkin, Susan, Caspian, and Cornelius were already gathered, peering out over the field ahead. 

At the sight of Miraz’s army along the tree line, Peter wondered if trusting in Lucy alone would be enough.

“Cakes and kettledrums!” Trumpkin exclaimed. “ _ That’s _ your next big plan? Sending a little girl alone into the darkest parts of the forest alone?”

“It’s our only chance.”

“And she won’t be alone,” Susan supplied.

As inspired as they seemed to be, the plan was troublesome to Caspian. It wasn’t so much a matter of faith as it was a matter of time and numbers. How would they manage?

“Haven’t enough of us died already?” Trumpkin asked.

At the Pevensies’ collective grim faces, Trufflehunter stepped in gently. “Nikabrik was my friend too, but he lost hope. Queen Lucy hasn’t, and neither have I.”

“I’m going with you.”

“No,” Lucy refuted carefully. “We need you here.”

“We have to hold them off until Lucy and Susan get back,” Peter concurred. 

“If I may…?” Caspian stepped forward, continuing only when he realized he had their attention. “Miraz may be a tyrant and a murderer, but, as king, he is subject to the traditions and expectations of his people. There is one in particular that may buy us some time.”

“What is it?”

“We can issue him a challenge of single combat. Should he accept, he’ll be bound to the letter of the agreement.”

He hadn’t expected silence, or the expression that seemed to wash over their faces together. Then they erupted all at once, voices spilling over each other.

“It could work but who—”

“I’ll—”

“Don’t you dare.”

“Well, it can’t be—”

“No, no, but—”

“I have more—”

“That’s not—”

Caspian cleared his throat, waiting until they each turned to him again before speaking. “I take it you’re familiar with the challenge?” 

“You could say that,” Lucy answered, eyeing her brothers as some silent exchange continued to pass between them. 

Suddenly, Edmund grumbled, and drew his attention toward Caspian once more.

“We’ll need proper armor,” Susan said, bringing them back to the task at hand. 

“Wait,” Caspian interrupted finally understanding. “Shouldn’t I be the one to challenge him?”

Peter shook his head, but it was Lucy who explained. 

“There won’t be enough weight behind it, coming from you. We’ve seen that you are a warrior and are to be king, but Miraz still regards you as just his nephew.”

“Pardon me, but with that logic, will he accept the challenge at all? He considers you all to be just children.”

“He will if we send Edmund to deliver it,” Peter said simply.

He turned to the younger king. His expression was serious, flat, as though the pressure his brother placed on his shoulders was expected. It was surprisingly reassuring. They all were, with their comfort and ease. Clearly, it was a product of experience Caspian did not have. 

“Besides, even if he doesn’t,” Peter added. “We’ll still have to send a party over to deliver the challenge, and if we time it right, that’ll buy Lucy and Susan enough time to really get going. If we’re lucky, he’ll want to negotiate terms and Ed can keep them busy all day with that.”

“I wouldn’t bet on that,” Edmund intoned. “We’re going to need to keep the terms simple with Miraz. Clear cut from the beginning, or else he’ll think we’re playing for time.”

“But we  _ are  _ playing for time.”

“That’s not the point, and he certainly can’t know that. Besides, the more time I spend there, the less time we have to prepare for a battle if everything goes south.”

“That’s alright, Edmund.” The youngest of the four had crossed toward her brother, confident and bold. “I’ve already taken care of that bit.”

“What are you on about, Lu?” 

“I’ll explain later. Armor first,” she replied, turning Edmund by the shoulders. Caspian heard him ask her what armor as they marched away. Before they were out of earshot, Lucy called back. “Peter, write up the challenge. Trufflehunter should have what you need.”

Caspian was left speechless, not for the first time, by the way the Kings and Queens seemed to operate. So aware of each other’s tendencies, they seemed to anticipate each other perfectly.

“So, Edmund will deliver the challenge that you will engage him in single combat?” 

Peter was distracted; Trufflehunter had come to him with a short scroll, as if he’d known all along that this was the decision they would reach.

“What?” He asked, beginning to scratch out the words of the challenge.

“You’ll duel my uncle?” Caspian simplified.

Peter nodded, before standing a little straighter. “Despite my actions up until this point, we haven’t come to take your place on the throne, but to put you into it.”

It took Caspian a moment to understand what he meant, taken aback by the weight in his voice. The serious tone he’d adopted. For a second, Peter looked much more like the Magnificent King than he did the boy who stood in front of him. 

“Besides, even if he were to take you seriously, we can’t risk you fighting him.”

“But this is my fight, isn’t it?”

Peter smiled sadly. “Look. If there’s ever going to be peace with the Telmarines, you have to be the one who brings it. You can’t do that if he wins a duel against you. It’s a fight to the death.”

He said it casually, as though the prospect of dying didn’t hold power over him. Perhaps it didn’t cross his mind at all. Whatever the case, Caspian envied it. He’d need that sort of courage some day to be a king. Because Peter was right. Miraz was not one to stay true to his word, and Caspian had a feeling that this would not be the last battle he saw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, a couple things to note relating to nadora and where i bring her up again in my other series:  
> 1) nadora knew she was pregnant with petra before the pevensies go hunting for the white stag.  
> 2) she told susan (and edmund found out) but no one else. it was supposed to be a surprise.  
> 3) susan and edmund never got around to telling peter after they're back in england, because... well, how do you share that?  
> 4) i have a merlin/narnia crossover series, [songs of a warborn kingdom](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1761064) (set in england/europe, minorly canon-divergent after the events of _prince caspian_ ), where a little past the halfway point in the first fic ([in the line of fire](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24273061/chapters/58501429)), peter talks with arthur about nadora. also worth knowing, in this series, edmund told peter about petra before peter leaves to fight in wwii  
> 5) im also working on second merlin/narnia crossover series (this one's set in narnia, also minorly canon-divergent canon-divergent following the events of _prince caspian_ though not entirely in the same ways as in the other series; i hope to post the first (prologue-esque) work soon), no one's really talk to peter about anything to do with nadora bc... well, he doesn't like to talk about it. but peter finds something nadora left behind for him which tells him everything.
> 
> other notes:  
> 6) peter and edmund's relationship is one of my favorites in the entire series  
> 7) while i really liked the growth of edmund's character, and his unwavering loyalty and respect for peter in the film, i felt that there if the white witch was going to be present, there were opportunities to take a really hard look at it how edmund's doing for real (esp bc i full-heartedly believe that his personality is one of constant and continuous self-evaluation)  
> 8) i'm really looking forward to revealing the rest of Lucy's genius in the next chapter. largely because i refuse to believe she just sat idly by at the How while everyone else went off to Miraz's castle.
> 
> see you next week!


	11. Chapter 11

Edmund approached Miraz’s camp with Glenstorm and Wimbleweather, the giant, carrying green branches. His armor, it turned out, was from the vaults under Cair Paravel, collected under Lucy’s orders while they had gone to Miraz’s castle, and adjusted by the dwarves at the How afterward. 

It fit reasonably well despite the leather being a bit stiff, cutting into his shoulder and across his back, but when he reached the council’s tent, he was grateful Lucy had thought so far ahead. Even if slightly tight across the shoulders, he would have felt further out of place without it than he already did among the men surrounding him. 

Nevertheless, there was a job for him to complete. So, without prompting, Edmund unfurled the scroll and began delivering the challenge.

“I, Peter, by the gift of Aslan, by election and by conquest, High King of Narnia, Lord of Cair Paravel, and Emperor of the Lone islands, in order to prevent the abominable effusion of blood, do hereby challenge the usurper Miraz to single combat upon the field of battle. The fight shall be to the death. The reward shall be total surrender.”

He rolled the scroll afterward, watching the men in front of him more than he cared for the parchment in hand. He had a sense for what they would be like, but anything could happen and there was often more said in silence than most would suspect.

“Tell me, Prince Edmund-”

“King,” he corrected.

“Pardon?” 

“It’s _King_ Edmund, actually.” 

The look on Miraz’s face, and those of the Lords beside him, told him to keep his tone simple. These were men used to power. It wouldn’t do to pretend they would listen to him for the sake of his own authority—they didn’t believe it anyhow.

Still, there was more to this audience than the simple request he’d put forth, and Edmund stretched out the smile he knew would sneak under the men’s skin and continued, explaining in a light but proper tone that it was “Just king, though. Peter’s the High King.” 

No one said anything as he tucked the scroll away. 

“I know, it’s confusing.”

Miraz looked annoyed but shifted tactics, choosing to ignore titles altogether as he pushed forward. “Why would we risk such a proposal when our own army could wipe you out by nightfall?”

Edmund quirked an eyebrow. “Haven’t you already underestimated our numbers? Only a week ago, Narnians were extinct.”

“And so you will be again.”

He bit his tongue at the threat, knowing now just how this would play out. Miraz was not a man of honor, nor one open to casual conversation, but rather a man of pride, over eager to prove his strength, thinking it to be some sort of valor. 

From a brief glance to the other men around the table, Edmund got the sense it would take very little prompting to secure the conditions of the proposed single combat.

“Then you should have little to fear.”

Miraz laughed. “This is not a question of bravery.”

“So you’re _bravely_ refusing to fight a swordsman half your age?” Edmund taunted, hating that to the men at the table, this perhaps rang most true among all he’d said thus far. All told, he ventured a guess that Peter was actually the same age as Miraz. Perhaps a year or two younger.

“I didn’t say I refused,” Miraz spat back defensively.

Edmund did not refute his claim. Instead, he kept his expression neutral and allowed the other men to step in and do his job for him.

“You shall have our support, your majesty, whatever your decision.”

“Sire, our military advantage alone allows us the perfect excuse to avoid-”

“I am not avoiding anything!” Miraz exclaimed as he rushed to stand. 

“I am merely pointing out,” replied the man who had just spoken—a shorter man with a slender frame, Sopespian by Caspian’s descriptions. “That my lord is well within his rights to refuse.”

“His majesty would never refuse,” announced the general, standing just behind Edmund. “He relishes the chance to show his people the courage of their new king.”

The tension in the tent was palpable, but Edmund stood silent, watchful. It did not take long for Miraz to respond, drawing his sword to point at him. “You…” he declared, fingers gripped around the hilt tight enough that Edmund could see the strain in his forearm. “You should hope your brother’s sword proves sharper than his pen.”

A hint of a smile played at his lips, uncontrollable for just a second before he straightened, smoothing out his features again to lay out the arrangements. 

He rejoined Glenstorm and Wimbleweather outside the tent afterward, lips drawn in a straight line. He hated to have his back to the enemy—particularly one as dishonorable as Miraz.

“So?” The giant asked, eager.

“We have a duel,” he stated simply.

It was what they needed, but he knew the dangers of the duel. Glenstorm, for his silence, seemed aware of the severity of their situation as well. This wouldn’t be the first duel Peter fought, nor the first for Edmund, and it was comforting that neither had yet to lose a challenge. But that was a lifetime ago, when they were both older, stronger, and quicker, with years of muscle memory and practice to guide their way. 

For how much of their English lives they had forgotten while ruling Narnia, they were lucky their minds had not forgotten Narnia in the year they’d been gone. But their bodies had, and following the night at Miraz’s castle, Edmund was acutely aware that his mental memory was stronger than his muscle memory. It came back quickly, and perhaps for Peter, with his year of fist fights and anger, it came even quicker. But Edmund still wondered if it would be enough. 

When they returned to the How, they were guided down to a lower level, where it appeared they were holding yet another meeting. Peering through to the open underground as he approached, Edmund spotted the various columns and finally understood what his sister’s plan had been. 

“You’ve outdone yourself, Lu,” Peter commented. 

“Well, someone had to look out for you,” she said, grinning. “Have I for— Edmund!” 

“Ed?” Peter turned, eyes asking the question everyone else was likely thinking.

“He’s agreed,” he answered shortly. “You duel Miraz tomorrow, mid-morning.” 

The clink of metal echoed around the chamber long after it had cleared out, leaving Edmund and Peter alone as they unfastened the straps and hooks to their armor. 

Peter had only donned his for a fitting and deemed it sufficient despite some slight sliding at his shoulders. That it fit at all was a miracle, he could manage a loose shoulder pad. But across the smooth raised rock that served as their table, Edmund worked steadily at his fastenings. The metal plating shifted in a more practiced manner, deliberately slow as the day drew to a close. 

Edmund was uncharacteristically quiet, even for him, but it was difficult to determine exactly why. His brother held so much, so close—secrets and pains, lessons and annoyances—it could have been any number of things. Peter couldn’t begin to imagine the way they all twisted up together, to pick and pull at one thread was to unravel it all. 

“What’s he like?” he asked, finally.

“Proud. Self-centered. Quick to anger. Eager to prove himself.” Edmund paused briefly. “He even drew his sword at the table.”

“He what?” Peter exclaimed, fingers stalling.

“He didn’t actually _do_ anything. I think he just wanted it known that he could.” Edmund frowned. “The lords of his council seem supportive. Some, perhaps a bit too supportive.”

“Too supportive?”

“Like they didn’t mind that he might die.” 

Edmund looked up, face grim, and Peter wondered what it was that shook him so badly. This was not their first duel, for either of them; it couldn’t be nerves. Yet Edmund looked unusually worried as he pulled his leather chest mail over his head and set it aside. 

“What is it?”

“Hmm?” Edmund blinked, as if coming out of his thoughts, then shook his head. “Nothing.”

“Ed.”

“I said, it’s nothing.”

Steady, sure, confident. Edmund was the reliable one, the one who calmed Peter. If he was unmoored by something, Peter needed to know.

“Just…” he tried again.

“Drop it, Pete. Please?”

In an instant, he was taken back to their first nights in Cair Paravel. 

King Edmund did not beg. He spoke plainly and decidedly. But in those first days, when they had yet to grow into their crowns and learned they were stronger than they once thought, Edmund had, on occasion, made his requests in urgent pleas. It had always quiet and always in private. As though he hadn’t wanted anyone to know.

“Ed—” 

“Seriously, Peter.”

“No, just listen to me for a minute,” he insisted, realizing now what he’d missed. “I owe you an apology. You were right, the other day. Lucy did have a point, and I should have listened to her. To all of you. If I had, Caspian wouldn’t have been such an easy target for Nikabrik. She wouldn’t have come back.”

Edmund had come so far in his years since first escaping the White Witch, but no matter the years, no matter how old or young Edmund’s face was, the change in his expression was always the same when she was mentioned. Peter knew the look well, having watched for it over the years. Now, the dark and focused shift in his eyes was all there was. 

“I’m sorry. I know I don’t make it easy.”

“You haven’t made _anything_ easy!” Edmund snapped back, clenching his jaw and his fists. Thick tension sat between them, spreading thin as his brother took a handful of deep breaths. When Edmund continued, his voice was softer but still lined with anger. “You’ve been impossible, this entire last year, acting as though you were the only one who lost anything when we came back through the wardrobe. I know it was hard to… I know it was hard, but you weren’t the only one who lose them, to lose all of this.”

“I…” Peter paused, letting the words ring for a moment. “I’m sorry.” It wasn’t enough, would _never_ be enough, but he didn’t know what else to say. 

Edmund’s head had dropped, and his chest heaved. Peter knew he was trying to rein himself in, to keep whatever semblance of control it was he felt he needed. It made Peter want to reach out—pull him in for a hug, like they’d done when they were younger, long before Narnia.

“Ed, say something.”

Dark brown eyes met his own, seeking something, and this time, Peter said nothing. He waited, hoping his brother might open up, just this once. 

Instead, he dropped his gaze and turned to unlatch the last of his armor.

“He’s proud,” Edmund said, voice even again. Even his hands were open, now, steady against the pieces of his armor. “Arrogant. You can use that to your advantage.”

Peter wondered at how he managed such command over his own reactions. It seemed exhausting. Just once, he wished Edmund would let go. Let loose that temper and use it for something more than half a line or a pointed look. To let it out instead of burying it where the only thing it could hurt was himself. 

It was a foolish thing to hope for.

“Just be sure to guard your left side,” Edmund added, letting his hands fall from the leather coverings he left on the stone between them. “Your shoulder plate is loose.”

Peter could deny the dismissal he’d just been issued. As High King, he had that right. But Edmund had shifted. It was the Just King who stood in front of him now, and as a brother, Peter had no authority against him.

Night approached, but the days were long in a Narnian summer, so Caspian wasn’t surprised to find Susan in the archery fields with a line of others hanging onto the last of the day’s light. They all held longbows, such a contrast to the crossbows he was used to, but more fitting somehow. She and the satyrs both were of a different time from him, an age with fewer mechanical weapons. And yet there they were. Real and present. Unfortunately, their aim could use some help.

“Nope. Not a scratch!” Trufflehunter called, checking over the makeshift Telmarine target.

“It’s alright,” she assured them. “Rome wasn’t built in a day.”

“How long did it take?”

“What’s Rome?”

Susan shook her head and replied, “It’s just an phrase.”

Caspian walked up behind them, careful to line up his shot between the archers while he listened. When ready, he pulled the trigger.

“Hey!”

“Nice shot. Which one of you…” Susan noticed him then, and he bowed his head. 

“Good evening, your majesty. I thought you could use some help.”

“Things are well in hand, thank you.”

“I… didn’t mean to suggest otherwise.”

She seemed a bit offended, and Caspian regretted having interrupted. But then she spoke. “I suppose you could do better?” 

Eager to prove he wasn’t completely worthless, despite his actions thus far, he nodded. “Pick a target.”

“Do you see that pine cone?” she asked, nodding up toward the trees.

“No problem,” he answered, lifting his crossbow to take the shot. 

“No.” She turned to him and leaned close to mimic his line of sight. With a feather-light touch, she carefully guided his bow up by the barrel. “That one.”

Finding the pine cone she pointed him to, he dropped his bow. It was such a small target, and so far up. He glanced at her, skeptical. “Are you sure that is not an acorn?”

“Too far for you?” she asked, a sliver of amusement in her voice. He knew a trap when he heard one, and yet… 

He brought the butt of his bow to his shoulder and aimed, knowing even as he pulled the trigger that his shot would miss. 

It was closer than he had hoped, zipping past.

“Not bad,” she commended, the humor still lining her words.

“Well, I was trained by the finest in the Telmarine Army.”

She smiled then, considerably less irritated than when he had first arrived on the scene. 

“Well. If that’s the best they’ve got…” She drew her bow and notched an arrow before continuing. “We might stand a chance after all.”

It was clear to Caspian she needed less time to focus on a shot than he did, her shot was quick. Miraculously, even, her arrow flew true, cutting straight through the pine cone before disappearing into the trees beyond.

The pair fell to giving out careful instruction, though Caspian was well aware that Susan’s was more pertinent. His archery instruction had included only the basics of longbow training. He could, at least, assist in sighting and breathing. 

Soon, however, the evening sky did cover them and one by one, the Narnians turned back toward the How until only Caspian and Susan remained. 

“Come collect my arrows with me?”

He was unsure if it was a command or a request, but he followed her anyways, falling in step with her as they crossed toward the treeline. 

“She’s clever, your sister. To come up with her plan,” he admitted, finally, having searched desperately for something to say, anything at all. Except that this was clearly something Susan already knew. She had been the one to suggest Lucy come up with another plan in the first place. “But I suppose, she’s had some practice at this.”

“She is, and she has,” Susan answered. “We all have.”

“Right.”

She chuckled and pulled the last of her arrows from one of the targets before turning to Caspian then. “You don’t mean to talk only of my sister, do you?”

“Oh… I, no. Of course not,” he stammered. “I actually meant to apologize.”

“Apologize?”

“For the other night at the castle, and when we returned…” he started. “I was so blinded by what I wanted, I put us all in danger.”

“What’s done is done. For what it’s worth, I don’t blame you.” She pulled her quiver off her shoulder before setting the arrows back into it. “It was poorly timed, but time is no one’s friend.”

Caspian stared for a moment, unsure if he’d heard her correctly. The words settled as they returned back to the How, and he discovered he wasn’t so much confused as he was surprised. The Pevensies were always doing that. He would feel he had a handle on them one moment, and then be knocked completely off balance, the next. 

“I… Thank you, Susan.”

She nodded, careful as they ducked through the outer entrance and into the tunnels once more.

They stood just ahead of the main fork, standing awkwardly between their separate paths for a moment. Caspian searched frantically for something more to say, but found everything he had prepared was no longer applicable. He had anticipated having to explain himself further. To have to fight for his apology to be heard. 

“Well, good night, Caspian.”

He nodded dumbly after her, realizing she was right, though perhaps not quite in the way she meant. Time was not a friend. 

The following morning was brighter than Caspian anticipated, but the How was awake with a hopeful electricity. It was a cautious sort, with the Narnians gathered in small groups, chatting in low voices in various nooks of their cavernous base. Even the Pevensies took part, sequestered away by the Stone Table. 

They stood in no particular proximity to one another, but they, like the other Narnians, were talking in hushed tones, privately. At first he wondered if it was simply some Narnian tradition, some pre-battle ritual of sorts or just a battle custom he had never learned. Then, he recognized the quiet, tense atmosphere of the room, unique and distinct. 

This was a private moment between kings and queens, brothers and sisters. But for all he knew he should, Caspian couldn’t pull himself from the hollow archway into the room. So he watched them talk and dip their heads toward one another in turn. They did not hug and they did not cry. They stood tall with their heads held high, Lucy most of all. Finally, for half a breath, they said nothing. They simply stood there, looking at one another as if committing to memory what the others had said or looked like.

Edmund noticed him first—it seemed he always would—and Caspian stepped forward tentatively.

“The sun is nearly up,” was all he could manage.

Peter nodded and turned back to Susan and Lucy. “You’d better go.”

They murmured some other words, and Caspian turned, knowing he truly was, now, intruding on something he shouldn’t. 

Lucy and Susan joined him shortly, and the three of them walked through the tunnels toward the open chambers in the back—it was the closest and best they could provide for the horses, without leaving them outside and unsheltered.

“Pardon me for asking, but… what was that?” he asked, curiosity burning past etiquette.

Susan paused in her walking, though Lucy continued on, as if she hadn’t heard. For a moment, he thought she might refuse him and conclude the conversation before it began. Instead, she smiled. It was slight and brief, more akin to one of Edmund’s smiles by Caspian’s thought, but it was there nonetheless.

“A tradition of sorts, I suppose,” Susan explained. “Even when we were called away from the castle in haste, we made sure there was a proper goodbye said between at least two of us before anyone left, just in case. It was a courtesy we granted each other.”

She said it as though that was all it was, a habit, but Caspian saw in her eyes what she did not explain. More than a farewell or a simple a courtesy, it was an easing of the heart between siblings. A show of support among rulers of a kingdom. They acted together, or not at all. That they did not depart from one another in spirit, even if they did in form.

The pair of them walked the remainder of the way to the horses in silence, and when they reached Lucy, she already had Destier pulled around. Caspian helped them both up, searching for words, any words, to say. It would not be enough, he knew, but he felt the need to give them something.

“Destier has always served me well. You are in good hands.”

“Or hooves,” Lucy joked.

He smiled and then looked up at Susan.

“Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

It was painfully little. But then he remembered his last farewell in such a situation, and he pulled Susan’s horn from his belt to hand to its rightful owner.

“Maybe it is time you had this back.” 

She held his gaze briefly, and Caspian swore there was another smile there. 

“Why don’t you hold onto it? You might need to call me again.”

Before the words settled, she had nudged Destier into movement, taking off through the last turn of the tunnel and out toward the woods beyond the How. Echoes of their voices rang back to him, but he was already smiling and it felt good to have something to smile about, ahead of the day they faced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't believe for a second that lucy would have just sat around waiting at the How while the others went off to raid MIraz's castle, so I had her organize some things herself: retrieving armor and things for the others, making sure the plan for the battlefield was prepared, basically everything lol
> 
> tumblr;; [@angstyloyalties](https://angstyloyalties.tumblr.com)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning;; this chapter ends with a main character being severely wounded. but i promise, it'll all be okay by the end.

Edmund looked across the field at the rank and file of soldiers from the ridge as Peter got ready. He meant to go in, to help him. But he struggled with facing him. Then, when he finally did turn, something just beyond the treeline caught his attention. Five, maybe six men on horseback were riding hard.

He disappeared inside, surprised but glad to see Caspian with Peter.

“The girls, where are they?” 

“They just left.” 

“Miraz’s men are after them already.” Edmund glanced between Peter and the hallway leading back to the horses, cursing his own luck. 

“I’ll go,” Caspian offered. “I won’t stand out as much to them as you will.” 

“Go,” Peter commanded. “They have to get through.”

Caspian ran from the room, leaving Edmund and Peter together again. For need of something to do, he walked around to help him fasten the buckles of his armor.

“They’ll be fine,” Peter said softly. 

Edmund said nothing. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe it. It was that he didn’t trust the odds, not when they faced an army of a thousand with only a few hundred. Not when they needed Aslan. He hadn’t felt this helpless since the night he first met Mr. Tumnus, in that icy prison cell in Jadis’s castle. Then, as he did now, Edmund felt transparent, too easily seen. And this moment with Peter and Caspian was proof.

Peter, of course, would have had every reason to know exactly what he was feeling. They’d fought alongside one another for too long not to know what the other was thinking based on the slightest shift in their expressions. But Caspian… It was as though the prince had read the conflict on his face, with how quickly he proposed a solution. 

Edmund was slipping, unraveling at the seams for all to see.

“Ed…” Peter winced, suddenly, pulling him from his thoughts.

“Sorry.” He loosened the strap at his brother’s shoulder.

“They’ll be fine. You know Susan.”

“I know,” he said, finishing the last buckle. His hands lingered for a moment against the silver and gold of Peter’s armor, and in a flash he could see bigger hands in the place of his own, weathered and calloused. The armor beneath them was a little less bright, but well-worn. Blinking, he pulled his hands away and stepped back, remembering how often they had done this before. For battles, for ceremonies, for tournaments. 

There was a time when he had wished terribly for the chance to do it again; with every fiber of his being, it was all he’d wanted. And now that he had it, he was falling apart. 

“Your majesties?”

Edmund and Peter both looked up. Trumpkin had arrived, with Reepicheep and a bear in tow.

“Begging your pardon. I am a bear, I am.”

“And a fine one, I’m sure,” Peter accepted.

“Tradition states that you will need marshalls of the lists.”

“He’s right,” Reepicheep concluded. “You need to choose your seconds.”

“Yes, Reep, will you tell Glenstorm I want him, Ed, and-”

“Please… your majesty,” interrupted the bear.

Edmund looked between the bear and Peter, weighing tradition against practicality. The bear—Bugly—was not quite so wisened or old. But it seemed, from the smoothed expression on Peter’s face, tradition was to win out.

“It is your right, and my honor,” the High King conceded finally, before turning to take his shield from Edmund. “But you must remember not to suck your paws.”

“Oh,” Trumpkin groaned. “He’s doing it right now!”

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” The bear folded his paws back in front of his gut at Peter’s query, but the reprimand was light. There was the slightest of smiles on Peter’s face as he turned away again, and Edmund’s heart dipped dangerously.

“Are you sure _you_ are?” he asked in a low voice, the words slipping out before he could catch them.

The grin fell from Peter’s face as he met Edmund’s gaze. Beside them, Reepicheep cleared his throat. 

“I will, uh, go tell Glenstorm then. Trumpkin, Bugly, please. Let us go.” 

Edmund regarded Peter silently as the others left, scared in a way he shouldn’t have been and flustered by the burdens he’d given himself. If only he hadn’t stopped in those tunnels earlier. Hadn’t asked the Doctor to tell him the story that Peter should have heard first. Hadn’t caved so quickly at Peter’s insistence to fight Miraz himself. 

But if their roles were reversed, and Edmund were to face Miraz, would he want Peter to share the multitude of things due to him? There were so many things Peter deserved to know, especially now, with the possibility of death looming. But would it help him or be a distraction? Earlier, he had thought it the latter. But now, he wasn’t so sure.

“Ed. If I don’t make it—” Peter spoke solemnly, and suddenly, Edmund couldn’t bear the thought any more. 

“Later,” he interrupted quickly. He knew what Peter wanted to say, and he wouldn’t accept it. He refused to hear it now, so there would just have to be time for it, and everything else, later. 

There _would_ be time later. He had to believe it.

Edmund picked up Rhindon and gestured toward the door. “Let’s go.”

The pair of them made their way through the halls together and down to the entrance. They walked out side by side, into the bright sun and out toward the broken stone slabs where Glenstorm and Bugly waited. Miraz sat opposite them with his general and two of his lords on either side. There was a short exchange between them—Miraz and Glozelle—but it ended as they drew up to the arena. 

It was all as it should have been, and yet still, Edmund’s stomach sat in knots.

“There is still time to surrender,” Miraz called out, joining Peter on the stone. 

Rhindon gleamed in his hand, as bright and bold as ever, and Edmund curled his hands tight against the fear in his chest.

“Well,” Narnia’s king replied, “feel free.”

“How many more must die for the throne?”

“Just one,” Peter growled before he pulled down his visor and ran forward, taking some of Edmund’s breath with him. 

Worried as he was, the clashing of their swords cleared his mind enough to settle him briefly—reminded of all the times he’d stood here before, as Peter’s second. 

He’d done this before, they both had. There stood no reason to believe they could not do it again.

“You may need to call me again?”

“Oh, shut up.” Susan knew there were more important things than fleeting smiles and uncertain feelings, especially as they rode into the forest, but as they put more distance between them and the How, the feelings themselves were a strange comfort. Unfortunately, they only got so far before the sound of hooves came from up above.

“They’ve seen us!” Lucy shouted.

Susan turned to see the Telmarines up on the ridge. They were gaining and had the higher ground. It took only a few seconds for her to make up her mind, nudging Destier to go just a little faster until they reached a small clearing where she slowed just enough to dismount.

“Take the reins.”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m sorry, Lucy,” she apologized, looking up at her sister. “But it looks as if you’ll be going alone after all.”

It was the last thing she wanted, because as much of a warrior as Lucy had become, Susan felt she shouldn’t have had to. It was one of the small graces given to them when they first fell from Narnia—they had returned to bodies without the aches and pains of wars and losses. Sending Lucy on to find Aslan alone would be to force her toward that again. But the alternative was worse, and Susan couldn’t allow that either.

She slapped Destier’s rear, sending them off before she reached for her bow. The woods were still so quiet, but it worked to her advantage, letting her anticipate the Telmarines when they arrived. 

Bow drawn and arrow at the ready, she looked back over her shoulder at Lucy, who had paused briefly to look back, herself. They allowed each other that single moment and then turned, each to their own tasks. Lucy disappeared into the trees with Destier, and Susan turned back to wait for the Telmarines.

They had been forced to approach in sequence, weaving through the only path available to them through the trees, by Susan’s own making. One, two, three arrows unmanned the first three horses. And then another soldier, whose horse bucked wildly, too close to Susan for her to draw another arrow in time for the man who came up behind it. 

She dropped low beneath the swing of his sword, only just able to find footing and reach her quiver. But another horse and soldier had circled around, approaching too quickly for a proper shot. Susan ducked once again, but this time, swung her bow up. The tip caught his hand, knocking the sword free and onto the ground as he rode by. He grabbed desperately at his reigns to turn his horse once more, but by the time he managed it, an arrow stuck out of his chest, and Susan stood alone amidst the trees.

It was quiet, now, with the five Telmarine soldiers lying men around her, but she wasn’t done. There had been six or seven of them, hadn’t there? Susan drew another arrow at the sound of more hooves, wondering which it was—six or seven.

She drew the string back, waiting for the last soldier to appear through the trees. Without the threat of multiple soldiers, she waited for a clear shot, which she was shortly grateful for, seeing not a Telmarine soldier riding toward her, but Caspian.

He slowed, glancing around at the men before addressing her. “You really didn’t need that horn then, did you?”

She turned her head to hide a wry grin and collected the closest of her arrows before re-shouldering her bow. When she looked back to Caspian, he had extended an arm out to her. Taking it she climbed on behind him wordlessly, and they rode back toward the How. 

When they reached the battlefield, Miraz and Peter were well engrossed in their duel. Peter’s helmet had come off, but it was clear Miraz was favoring one leg over the other. Just before they reached Edmund at the edge of the square, Peter fell and let out a yell. 

Susan could see Miraz swing, but when no further gasp came from those closest to the fight, she assumed all was fine. By the time she had dismounted and stood by Edmund, both men were standing. Breathing heavily, but breathing all the same.

“Does his highness need a respite?” Miraz huffed.

“Five minutes?”

“Three.”

Peter approached, clutching his shoulder.

“Lucy?”

“She got through,” Susan answered, eyeing Miraz across the way. When she looked back to Peter, she followed his gaze over her shoulder to the How.

“Better get up there,” he advised. “Just in case. I don’t expect the Telmarines will keep their word.”

She nodded and stepped forward to pull him into a hug, apologizing softly when he winced.

“Be careful,” she advised, as if he didn’t already know to do so, and turned back to the How.

“Keep smiling,” she heard Edmund say; his voice was tense with warning, following her as she ran down the stone path and into the How.

The Narnians cheered as she disappeared, and Susan didn’t have to look back to know Peter had done as Edmund asked. 

She just hoped he’d do as _she_ asked, as well.

“I think it’s dislocated,” Peter said, holding his shoulder as he took a seat. Miraz had done the same, across from them, but Edmund was too busy feeling along the joints under Peter’s shoulder braces to watch.

“What do you think happens back home if you die here?”

Edmund paused, then shifted his hands and gripped Peter at his shoulder and his bicep.

“You know, you’ve always been there. I never really—”

Peter cried out, unable to finish whatever nonsense he was about to say. There was a time and place for this sort of thing, but Peter had rarely gotten either of them right. And Edmund was determined to have time after.

“Save it for later,” he instructed, adjusting the plating back over Peter’s shoulder, now that it had been popped into its proper place. 

Peter declined his helmet when he offered it and stepped back into the square again without it, to Edmund’s dismay. But if Peter was an idiot for it, then Miraz, at least, appeared to be equally as dumb, as he left behind his own helmet as well.

 _Later_ , Edmund reminded himself. There would be time to yell at Peter, later.

The fight resumed with vigor, as if both parties were eager to finish things. Metal clanged and both men took their turns at each other. Miraz was ruthless, but Peter managed to trip him, finding space for himself after being run in against stone. 

Both recovered, Peter with just Rhindon in hand, and Miraz looking breathless. The attacks ran wide, until finally Peter wrestled Miraz’s sword out of his hand. It seemed an easy win, then. One attacker, one defender. But Miraz was quick, catching Peter’s sword and shoving him back. 

He attacked with the only weapon left between them, slamming his shield forward. But Peter caught it, twisting around to pull the shield behind Miraz, twisting his arm with it.

Miraz threw an elbow back, catching Peter in the face and pushed him back into a pillar. With the time allotted, Miraz scrambled for his sword. 

Peter blocked the swing with his vambraces, wincing at the weight against an already aching shoulder, but he must have remembered then, that he was not the only one to be injured.

One punch to Miraz’s wounded leg sent the false king falling to his knees, dropping his sword.

“Respite! Respite!” He cried.

“Now’s not the time for chivalry, Peter!” Edmund shouted. Cries of agreement rang out from the Narnians behind him, but he could see it already, just from Peter’s stance. The High King was done fighting.

Miraz, however, was not. After Peter dropped his fists and walked past him, the Telmarine grabbed his sword and ran forward.

“Look out!” Edmund shouted.

But the sword struck true, and his next breath caught. All he could see was the shock on Peter’s face and the blue of his eyes as he lifted his head. They were brighter now than he had ever seen them, and Edmund choked over all the words he hadn’t had a chance to say. They were caught in his chest, in his heart, making _everything_ impossible. 

“Pete…” His voice was nothing more than a soft breath, even to his own ears. The entire world seemed to have fallen silent around him. 

Then, a flash of red shot through his periphery, and in front of him, Miraz stumbled back, pulling the blade with him. Without the sword to hold him, Peter crumbled forward into Edmund’s arms, though Ed wasn’t sure when, exactly, he had moved so far in the first place.

“Treachery!” 

The Telmarine Lord’s cry pulled Edmund’s gaze up—not to Miraz, who lay flat on his back in front of them, but to the fletching on the arrow that sat lodged in his throat. Bold and bright, the Narnian red glimmered in the baking sun, and the shaft of the arrow held a distinct golden shine. There was no mistaking who had shot it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen, suspian is cute and i ship it from time to time, but susan was and is as much of a savage warrior queen as lucy, which we see so little of in the films. the scene in the woods where she stands, ALONE, against the telmarines coming after her is SO GOOD and while i appreciated caspian swooping in to save the day (for romance-y reasons), i still think this was an appropriate change.
> 
> the other change i made, of course, was harder to wrestle with. i loved the strength peter shows in deferring to caspian's judgement with miraz. and i think sopespian's murder of miraz was very telling of the telmarine leadership altogether. but i wrote this fic to focus on the pevensies and caspian's understanding of them, so... here we are, with a dying peter, an uncharacteristically stunned edmund, an absolutely vicious susan, and a desperately hopeful lucy who has no idea what just happened.
> 
> as always, i would really appreciate and kudos or comments you'd like to share, and you can find me on tumblr if you'd rather yell at me there [@angstyloyalties](https://angstyloyalties.tumblr.com)


	13. Chapter 13

Caspian had thought everything was finished the second Peter lowered his fists and walked past his uncle back to them. But Miraz was not a man of honor, and in the moments between Peter turning his back and falling forward into his brother’s arms, Caspian learned his first true lesson of a battle. The tide could turn in a second, for any reason.

And anyone could start a war.

He looked back, up at Susan, who still had her bow drawn. There was no sorrow in her face, nothing but fury, and he wondered who he had brought back from the forest with him.

“Treachery!”

Caspian twisted at the shout, seeing Lord Sopespian signal to Glozelle as he pointed up at the Narnians with his sword.

“They shot our king!”

Caspian looked back to the Narnians, shouting. “Get ready!”

When he turned back, he saw that Bugly had ambled forward, collecting Peter in his arms. 

Edmund was climbing heavily to his feet, while, beyond him, came Lord Respillian, sword drawn.

“Edmund!”

His shout of warning turned out to be unnecessary. Perhaps quicker than Susan’s arrow had turned this duel into a war, Edmund dispatched the Telmarine Lord and turned back to him, with a shout of his own: “Be ready!” 

Startled into motion by the same stony expression he’d had seen on Edmund’s face after he rid them of the White Witch, Caspian mounted his horse and stood waiting for the next command.

The first of the Telmarines’ boulders began to crash around them, and from behind, Caspian heard Susan’s voice from the ridge, no longer gentle but determined and commanding. Still, he kept his eyes on Edmund, who stood at the front of the square, turned toward their enemies. Their calvary had started to advance, but it wasn’t until they hit the right mark that Edmund turned. Glenstorm left his post and Caspian rode with him into the How. 

“Narnians,” he called, addressing those of their forces who were not already waiting outside. “Charge!”

He led them through the lower tunnels, into the open underground. When the fanfare sounded, from the rear of his troops, Caspian began to count, as he knew Edmund would too, above them. And on the upper ledge of the ridge, he could only imagine that Susan was directing the archers as planned. 

“Now!” he called, reaching the count of ten. Around him, the Narnians struck at the columns holding up the field, pulling the ground away from the Telmarine cavalry as they rode over it.

When he and the Narnians reached the end of the clearing, ramps were dropped to allow them back up above ground. He’d have to thank Lucy again, profusely, when he saw her next.

Caspian led the Narnians out and drew them around the Telmarines who had fallen into their trap, as they attempted to climb out, some with and some without their horses, arrows from the How rained down. 

He quickly learned that the battlefield was a mess of a place, creatures and people and weapons came at him from every direction. It was exhilarating as much as it was devastating, because the flaw of their plan was in the numbers. 

The Telmarines outnumbered them, and the ground could only give way, once. Even the aerial attack led by the gryphons wasn’t enough against the leagues of soldiers marching toward them. 

“Back to the How!” Edmund ordered, lifting his right arm high enough that the armor shifted. Caspian could see the mottled red that spread across the armor on his other shoulder. The arm below hung limp, and it was hard to tell where the red of his tunic ended and where the blood began.

Despite the wound, Edmund’s signal was clear—directing them back to the fortress of the How. Only now, Caspian was beginning to think it was, in fact, a tomb. 

Just as the thought crossed his mind, boulders from the Telmarine trebuchets crashed into the front face of the How. Their entrance was cut off, and the rock around the archers shifted unsteadily.

“Brace yourself!” Susan cried, before slipping from the crumbling ledge herself. 

Caspian shared a short look of trepidation with Edmund. It seemed as though time itself had slowed while he watched, but Trumpkin caught Susan by her arm and gently let her slip down onto the slanted yet stable level below unscathed.

When she joined them, Caspian took in the rush of Telmarines closing in around them. They were horribly outnumbered, but the steadfast determination on both Susan and Edmund’s faces were enough to give him courage. The pair shared some unspoken exchange, nodding at one another before Edmund tossed aside the crossbow and drew his sword. Then, they looked at Caspian. 

Their intent was clear, and he gripped his sword tight, in response.

Lucy rode on, moving on feeling and gut alone toward what she hoped would be a place where Aslan would be. Before long, though, she found herself weaving through the trees in an effort to evade a Telmarine on horseback, evidently one Susan had missed.

He was quicker than she was and had the added benefit of a long-range weapon. But then, to her left, another shape came running alongside them: a lion.

Destier reared when the lion circled to face them, and Lucy fell off with a scream. When she looked back, however, the lion leaped over her to the other side of this trench—a dry riverbed perhaps.

Lucy ran up and peered through the brush to see the lion watching the soldier run off through the trees. When he turned, the beast seemed to look straight into her soul. 

It was hardly even a second before a grin broke across her face.

“Aslan!” She ran toward him and threw her arms around his mane, relieved to hear his chuckle. “I knew it was you. The whole time, I knew it. But the others wouldn’t believe me.”

“And why would that stop you from coming to me?” 

“I’m sorry. I was too scared to come alone.” She had considered her reasons, but found there were none that would suffice but the truth. “Why haven’t you shown yourself? I thought you’d come roaring in to save us like last time.”

“Things never happen the same way twice, dear one.”

She mulled over his answer, curious as to what it meant until she remembered how they came to Narnia, both this time, and the last. And all the differences between this visit and the last.

The raid was the biggest difference. She had known death before, lost friends and soldiers throughout her years as queen. But those lost in the Battle of Beruna had been saved. She doubted it would be the same now.

“If I had come earlier… everyone who died, could I have stopped that?”

“We can never know what would have happened, Lucy. But what will happen is another matter entirely.”

“You mean you’ll help?” she asked. The hope in her chest was bursting.

“Of course, as will you.”

“Oh, well I wish I was braver,” she answered, frustrated still, with her child’s body.

“If you were any braver, you’d be a lioness.” Aslan stood. “Now, I think your friends have slept long enough, don’t you?”

She saw him tip back his head and covered her ears in time to muffle the volume of his roar. 

It was brilliant and loud, and all around them, the Trees heard the call clearly, even if Lucy did not. And finally, after centuries, they shook their branches and pulled upon their roots until even the oldest of the spirits inside them—along with many of the younger—had come alive again. 

Battle was everything Susan remembered it to be and worse. Gone was her advantage of distance and the comfort of her brothers, fighting side by side. Instead, she loosed arrows at a closer range to her targets than she preferred to be. And only Edmund stood nearby, positioned just outside her periphery with a Telmarine sword in one hand alongside his own in the other. 

In the thick of the battlefield, she knew Caspian was holding his own. He had to be, she didn’t have the time or the privilege to think otherwise. Not when Peter had been taken away by Bugly, and Lucy still searched the woods for Aslan.

It was a struggle to keep up with the enemy. Despite their best efforts, the Telmarines were closing in, and the longer they fought, the less hope she had of winning. This wasn’t the kind of battle Susan was cut out for, and the look she caught on Edmund’s face when she shot a soldier creeping up behind him told her they were in need of a miracle.

Then, whether a miracle or another of Lucy’s plans, Susan felt the ground shift beneath them. But instead of giving way, tree roots began shooting up through the ground, knocking Telmarine soldiers clear of their immediate battlefield. 

For a moment, Susan was stunned, unsure where to look. Then logic caught up to her and she twisted back to confirm for herself, for where roots appeared, the trees were sure to follow.

“For Aslan!” Peter’s voice came from behind her, as did several Trees, advancing on the already retreating Telmarines.

“Peter!”

He winced again when she hugged him, but she had no apologies for him this time.

“Pete! You’re…” Edmund gasped. “How did you…?”

“Lucy left her cordial with Windmane.” Peter explained, smiling.

Susan grinned, prouder of her sister than anything else at the moment. She really had thought of everything.

“Now, come on, before they get away.”

They charged after the Telmarines together, following them to a crowded, rocky shore. They had already begun to funnel onto the bridge across the river. But their sudden halt had them trapped. 

Susan and her brothers, and even Caspian it seemed, held the Narnian forces at the Telmarines’ backs. And upon the other shore, heading off their escape, was Lucy. Dagger drawn but not raised, she looked calmer than Susan might have expected. Not angry, but knowing. 

Then, between one blink and the next, she understood why. For beside Lucy, stood Aslan. 

Susan looked at Peter and Edmund, catching the matching grins on their faces, and then tightened her grip on her bow when the Telmarines in front of them turned back out of the water.

“Charge!” The cry came from the Telmarine Lord attempting to lead the retreat further across the bridge, but just as the soldiers around him obeyed the order, Aslan roared.

The Telmarines stopped and the water beneath the bridge began to recede. It washed away, downriver, shooting up into the form of a river-god. 

He worked quickly, destroying the bridge entirely until only the Lord on horseback remained. Then, he too fell victim to the raging river.

After all he had seen of the Narnians—the creatures, their resilience, their kings and queens—Caspian should not have been so surprised to see the trees move and river-gods rise up. Nor, should he have been shocked to see Aslan. 

Yet he was. 

He felt wildly unworthy, and nowhere near as confident as Lucy, to stand in Aslan’s presence as she did—though she did turn aside, briefly, to collect her cordial from Windmane as they approached. He was overwhelmed with a sense of gratitude and guidance, for Lucy and Aslan both. They had ended the battle, after all. And perhaps those around him felt the same, because together, he, Susan, Edmund, and Peter all knelt.

“Rise, kings and queens of Narnia,” Aslan commanded, waiting a moment before urging Caspian to do the same. “All of you.”

He lifted his head slowly to confess, “I do not think that I am ready.”

“It is for that very reason I know that you are.”

The answer was more than he’d hoped for, and while the idea didn’t immediately strike him as true, Caspian did stand. If only to shuffle aside, moments later, to allow several mice to walk through them out of the water. They carried Reepicheep on a small stretcher, and as soon as he was set down, Lucy rushed forward, uncapping the very bottle she’d just tucked into her belt.

She gave Reepicheep a drop, and he breathed after a moment, sitting up.

“Oh, thank you, your majes—” He stopped short, seeing Aslan. “Oh, hail Aslan! It is a great honor to be-”

He tried to bow, but only stumbled forward. Caspian, noticed as the mouse did, what the trouble was.

“Oh, I am completely out of countenance. I must crave your indulgence for appearing in this unseemly fashion,” he rattled, before turning to Lucy. “Perhaps a drop more?”

She smiled apologetically. “I don’t think it does that.”

“You can have a go,” Reepicheep urged, to which Aslan chuckled.

“It becomes you well, Small One.”

“All the same, Great King. I regret that I must withdraw. For a tail is the honor and glory of a mouse.”

“Perhaps you think too much of your honor, Friend.”

“Well, it’s not just the honor. It’s also great for balance… and climbing. And grabbing things.”

Aslan grinned, and Caspian did too, having seen what Reepicheep could not. The other mice behind him had drawn their swords and held them to their tails.

“May it please your high Majesty, we will not bear the shame of wearing an honor denied to our chief.

Aslan chuckled. “Not for your honor, but for the love of your people…” he explained, before raising a paw in Reepicheep’s direction.

“Oh, look!” His tail had grown back. “Thank you, thank you, my liege! I will treasure it always! From this day forward, it will serve as a great reminder of my huge humility!”

“Now,” Aslan began, turning to Lucy. “Where is this dear little friend you’ve told me so much about?”

Lucy turned, finding Trumpkin standing not far off, directing Telmarines to set their weapons aside as they came out of the water. He caught sight of her, as if aware of her gaze altogether and left his post to approach them.

He must have been nervous, as he only made it a few steps before kneeling tentatively, head bowed in their direction.

Aslan roared, making the poor dwarf shudder, but Lucy only grinned coyly and asked, “Do you see him now?”

Trumpkin did not reply, but it was clear that he did. Of this, at least, Caspian was sure. It was the rest of the aftermath he was not certain of. By the evening, he felt a bit adrift, not knowing what more to do. 

Peter had taken it upon himself to inform the Telmarine Lords of their options, and Edmund had already pardoned the Telmarine soldiers on the condition that they adhere to the laws and traditions of both Telmar and Narnia, under Caspian’s rule which was soon to be formally announced. Even Lucy had her own tasks, electing to go on several rounds among the soldiers, treating the most severely wounded, regardless of the color of their armor. 

It was only Susan he could not find among the people. Instead, he found her sitting at the edge of what had been Miraz’s camp, looking over the battlefield to Aslan’s How. It was torn up and messy, a far departure from what it had been when they first stood here together. Had it only been days ago?

“Is it time for my judgement?” she asked, suddenly. Susan hadn’t turned, but much like Edmund, she seemed aware of his presence, or perhaps just the presence of others in general.

“What do you mean?”

“Look out there, Caspian. I did this.” She stated it so clearly, it was hard to disagree. “I killed Miraz and started this battle. It’s only right that I should be judged for it.”

He hesitated to answer, in part because he did not know whether she was looking for a response, but also because he wasn’t sure that he agreed.

“My entire family, for generations back, stole this land from yours,” he said, finally. “And my uncle, among many other things, was perhaps the worst of them all.”

“That doesn’t give me the right to have killed him.”

“Perhaps not, but I think what he did after the duel does. He nearly took from you that which couldn’t have been won back, and he did so dishonorably. His life was forfeit from the very moment he attacked. I do not resent you for taking it.”

“It’s good of you to say so, Caspian,” she said, after a while. “And it speaks to your character that you do. But it was not my life to take, and that speaks to _my_ character. Worse that it resulted in countless other lives lost.”

Susan stood then and turned, but before leaving, she paused.

“You’ll learn, sooner than you’re ready to, that battle does not end when you leave the field, especially when you are the catalyst.”

“Wait,” Caspian reached out and caught her hand. “You weren’t the catalyst here. I blew the horn. I brought the Narnians together. Miraz was fighting to rid himself of the possibility that I would take the crown from him, as he had done my father.”

“Yes! And for that, you should have been the one to make that shot. To be given the decision of his life. We could have avoided all of _this_!” She pulled her hand free from his to gesture out at the field, riddled with holes and bodies, and the How, a mess of stone. “If not for me.”

“Susan!”

A hand on his shoulder stopped him from following her through the trees. “Let her go. She’ll feel better in time.” 

Caspian dropped his shoulders, and Edmund’s hand slipped away.

“You’ll feel better, too, once you stop lying to yourself.”

“What?”

“Miraz. His death may have been necessary, but you’re still upset that he’s dead.”

“No, I’m not,” Caspian denied.

“Yes. You are. How could you not be? He’s your uncle.” Edmund’s tone was even as he stood there, stone still, bandage peeking out from beneath his tunic. “He’s still family. You might disagree with them on everything, or even wish them dead at times. But, it still hurts to lose them.”

“Bu—”

“There’s nothing wrong with accepting it. It’ll allow you to move forward properly,” Edmund advised. “It’ll help Susan, too, so you can both move past this.”

“Why are you telling me this?” he asked, but the king disappeared back into the shadows without responding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> caspian's got a LOT to think about now that things have wrapped up. next chapter has a few added scenes, along with the departure. i'll be posting a short epilogue along with it next week, so we're really near the end now!  
> \--------  
> kudos and comments would be lovely if you feel so inclined <3  
> and you can always find me on tumblr: [@angstyloyalties](https://angstyloyalties.tumblr.com)


	14. Chapter 14

The march back to the castle was slower than before, but there were more of them this time and little reason to hurry. The time gave Peter the opportunity to seek Susan out. He had hoped she would come to him, but it wasn’t until after asking both Lucy and Edmund that he managed to track her down toward the back of their caravan of Narnians and Telmarines. When they stopped for water and food, he approached her by the river bank where she sat. 

“We should talk, I think.”

Her eyes flickered up to his, but she gave no other indication that she’d heard, or that she agreed. 

He sat down beside her anyway. “Su, the terms of the challenge were set.”

“I know.” 

Her voice was small in a way Peter hated. Susan often spoke softly, but never without surety. Never in fear or worry. Hers was a mind of conviction, having already sorted through the endless possibilities and knowing each of their outcomes. She spoke as she acted, with confidence. 

But this was something else. This had roots in something Susan was not. 

“It was my own fault for giving him the chance to attack. What could possibly have…” he sighed. This wasn’t what he had imagined.

“I thought he killed you,” she said, again in the quiet tone of insecurity. “I lost my temper.” 

Peter turned the words over as they sat in silence. He might have expected Lucy to be angry. Had even hoped for Edmund to let loose, but Susan… He hadn’t expected this from her. 

She had only ever directed her anger in calculated measures before, in veiled threats and hidden agendas. She had to have known what her actions would lead to. 

“I’m not mad you did it. We wouldn’t be walking freely now, otherwise. Narnia would be lost, if you hadn’t. But this wasn’t… Susan, didn’t you know what would happen?”

“Of course, I did.” 

There. The snap of her voice was back. Startling, but it was there. 

“But what do you expect, Peter? If it was Lucy or Edmund who’d done it, and not me, would you be so confused?”

She had a point. This was the  _ exact _ explanation Lucy would have given if she’d done something similar. In fact, he thought maybe she had, once long ago, for far less of an offense. Edmund would have too, though he’d never need to because he would have concocted some other elaborate counter measure to cover it all up. But Susan? 

“I still don’t understand. It’s not like you to disregard the terms.”

“They were horrible terms!” she shouted back, standing and throwing the pebbles she’d been twisting through her fingers. They sank soundly into the water. 

He sat stunned, looking up at her. 

“Of course you don’t understand,” she said again, but softer and with shaky care. “How could you? You were always the one to go off and defend us. Every time there was some honorable, self-sacrificial plan in the works, you were the one to carry it out. Where do you think Edmund and Lucy got it from?”

“Su… I did what I had to. We all did.”

“I know,” she sighed and sat again. “I just thought, maybe we wouldn’t have to anymore.”

None of them were strangers to the fact that war changed a person. They had all led soldiers to battle, but as he looked back over the years, he realized how differently Susan fought.

For one, they were far more often battles of tradition. It wasn’t that she never fought alongside her siblings on a battlefield, it was that she was more often needed to face the threats at court against jealous lords and their intricate plots of deception. She  _ was _ the one who waited, more than the others, even counting the years they’d made Lucy stay home for being too young. 

“You never said anything,” Peter said softly.

“How could I? You, Edmund, even Lucy… you went where you were needed. I was where  _ I _ was needed. I know that. It’s just, as much as I know it’s been difficult, being in England this last year made me realize how glad I am to know you’re all safe.”

Peter reached over and took her hand in his. He’d spent so much time fighting battles, protecting his family and his people from threats outside the kingdom, Peter hadn’t realized that he’d only caused a different kind of fear to grow. He hadn’t considered, either, how much better life in England was, in that regard. He’d been too caught up in his own head to recognize it. 

“I thought you were dead, Peter.”

“I know. It’s okay. I’m here. I’m right here.”

“But all those people…” she whimpered. “How do I…”

“Like we always do,” he hushed, pulling her to him. “Together, and with time.”

  
  


The coronation was beautiful. 

Caspian had never known the castle could be so bright, or full. From the moment they’d returned, Susan and Prunaprismia had been preoccupied with decorations and preparations. Even the city beyond the bridge got involved, clearing the streets and setting up banners along the main road. It was a grander and happier affair than Caspian had ever known to take place in Narnia, let alone at the castle. 

Yet, that evening, after a full procession through the streets, Caspian slipped away from the crowds at the feast in favor of first, a quiet corner, and then, the relative seclusion of the far balcony. He would return soon, but for the moment, the fresh air was calming. It gave him the opportunity to think and wrap his head around the crown he wore. 

“Caspian, there you are!” Lucy’s voice was bright, cutting through the evening air. “What are you doing out here? Everyone’s looking for you.”

“Breathing?” he answered, hopeful that she might understand.

“Is the air inside, not good enough?” she teased, her grin wide as she stepped out to join him. “Truth is, I always found feasts like this terribly stuffy.”

“You did?”

“I don’t mind the dancing, so much. But the announcements and the toasts,” she shook her head. “I skipped those parts, usually.”

Caspian frowned, contemplating how that might have worked.

“But it gets better with time. Easier, too.”

“Seems to me, a great many things do,” Caspian said. “If you didn’t like this, what  _ did _ you like?

Lucy’s expression shifted, as if she had to think very hard. Perhaps she did. Memories were different from lessons and stories. 

“Sailing,” she said, finally. “I heard the other Lords mention something about there not being any more ships in Narnia?”

He shook his head. “That’s right. Telmar bordered Narnia, Archenland and Calormen until we came to Narnia. We never had reason to go to sea. And my ancestors didn’t see the need to start. What’s it like?”

“Unpredictable,” she said, and though Caspian was looking out to the sky, he could almost hear her smile. “It was endless. Sometimes calm, sometimes not. Sometimes, somehow, both. You’d never know how a voyage would turn out, but there was always an adventure in it. I could never get tired of looking out over the horizon in the evening, or catching the merpeople swim along the bow. The smell, the sounds, the salt in the air after a storm. I would stay out on our ships for weeks on end. Longer if I could convince the crew. There was an openness in the water I loved.”

“Did you feel trapped, otherwise?” 

“Not trapped, no,” she answered quickly. “But maybe… overwhelmed? I love Narnia. I love being queen. I always have, and I always will. I wouldn’t trade it for the world. But when I was out on the water, no one seemed to demand anything of me. I was just one of the crew.”

“It sounds… liberating.”

She smiled and turned to him. “It was. Maybe it will be for you too.”

“Maybe,” he repeated, smiling back at her before they each returned their attention to the sky above.

“Caspian?” Lucy said, eventually.

“Yes?”

“Whether it be the sea, or the woods, or the fields, or even some place within the castle walls. I hope you find the place that makes you feel free. It helps, when everything gets to be too much.”

Caspian looked at her, remembering that she wasn’t the young girl she appeared to be, but a woman trapped in a girl’s body. His elder and his younger all at once. 

She went back into the feast shortly afterward, promising not to reveal his hiding spot, but he was only alone for a few minutes before he felt the presence of another join him. 

“Might I join you, your majesty?”

Caspian turned and nodded awkwardly, in part due to the title—which would take some getting used to—and in part due to Susan, herself.

He had made a point of giving her space, since the other night. Then, there had been so many other arrangements to attend to, he wasn’t sure he would have been able to catch a moment with her alone even if he had wanted to. He’d seen her earlier that afternoon during his coronation of course, and throughout the rest of the evening’s festivities, but his mind had been squarely preoccupied by the crown he’d been granted and all that came with it. 

“Does it feel strange?” she asked, joining him at the railing.

“Yes, and no,” he answered honestly. “I grew up a prince. I just… didn’t quite expect to become king this way.”

“I suppose not,” she accepted, and looked up at the sky. “I forgot how bright the stars are here.”

“Do you not see them? In your world?”

“Sometimes, in the country, but certainly not these stars—we have our own. But where we live, there’s too much light pollution. They aren’t nearly as bright.”

“Light pollution?”

A wrinkle in her forehead appeared, and Caspian wished immediately that he could have said something else. Instead, he turned back to the sky as well, else he risked the chance that he might reach out to smooth the lines himself.

“It’s when the night sky is too bright from the light of torches and other things down below. It makes it hard to see the stars.”

“It sounds… difficult.”

“Not terribly. Just different,” she hummed.

The music inside reached them through her voice, and Caspian fought the distinct urge to ask Susan to dance, unsure that it would be appropriate out here, on the balcony, or that she would even accept. There were so many lines here he did not want to cross, many of which he could not see.

“Caspian,” Susan said abruptly, turning toward him and interrupting his thoughts. “About the other night. I forgot how it could be, sometimes.”

“Please, it’s alright. It had been a long day.”

“No, I… I was harsher than I should have been. I owe you an apology for that, at the very least.”

He shifted a bit uncomfortably, but responded in kind. “I suppose I was not as truthful as I should have been, myself. Perhaps we can call it even.”

She smiled slightly. “I can accept that.”

He smiled back and then extended a hand to her before he lost his nerve. “Would you do me the honor of returning inside for a dance?”

A light flickered, reflected in her eyes as she turned, and Caspian was lost enough in the brightness that he didn’t quite hear her answer. Fortunately, she’d accepted his hand and was already leading him back inside.

They danced well into the night, and Caspian was grateful for her patience. There would be much for him to learn, where Narnian custom was concerned. Not the least of which started with the Kings and Queens themselves—he’d only just begun to see how they were not entirely as the stories had painted them to be. They were more and less in equal measure, different than he’d imagined as a child but everything he could have asked for. Narnia too, would be that way too, he hoped. 

The next day was an early one for them all, and an important one for Caspian. His first address to the people. Once everyone had assembled, Caspian stepped forward. “Narnia belongs to the Narnians just as it does to man. Any Telmarines who wish to stay and live in peace are welcome to. And for any of you who wish, Aslan will return you to the home of our forefathers.”

“It has been generations since we left Telmar,” called a lord from the crowd.

“We are not referring to Telmar,” Aslan clarified. “Your ancestors were seafaring brigands, pirates run aground on an island. There, they found a cave, a rare chasm that brought them here from their world—the same world as our kings and queens. It is to that island I can return you. It is a good place for any who wish to make a new start.”

There was a pregnant pause before Glozelle stepped forward. 

“I’ll go. I will accept the offer.” 

He was followed closely by Prunaprismia, baby still in her arms. “So will we.”

“Because you have spoken first, your future in that world will be good.” Aslan breathed gently on them, and then turned to the tree behind Caspian. It twisted, forming a round opening. The volunteers moved toward it and then through, vanishing from sight.

“How do we know he is not leading us to our deaths?” cried a man from the crowd, fostering similar questions. Caspian himself wasn’t sure how to prove it, still staring into the space between the trees.

“Sire, if my example can be of any service, I will take eleven mice through with no delay,” Reepicheep offered.

Caspian looked between the mouse and the lion, but the latter was looking expectantly at Peter and suddenly, he felt the day was about to become far more trying an experience than any other he’d experienced.

“We’ll go.”

“We will?” Edmund asked, confusion evident as he looked to his brother.

“Come on. Our time’s up.” Peter walked over to Caspian and offered him his sword. “After all, we’re not really needed here anymore. Narnia is in good hands.”

Caspian took the sword, locking eyes with Peter. “I will look after it until your return.”

The pair nodded to one another, and Peter turned back to his siblings. 

“It’s alright, Lu,” he called, holding out a hand to her. “It’s not how I thought it would be, but it’s alright.”

Edmund nudged Lucy forward and they crossed over to join Peter in front of Trumpkin, Reepicheep, and Doctor Cornelius. As they said they’re goodbyes, Caspian turned back to Susan.

She walked forward cautiously, as if every step brought her closer to something she did not want. Perhaps that was true. He  _ hoped _ it was true.

“I’m glad I came back,” she said softly. 

“I wish we had more time together.”

“It would never have worked, anyway.”

“Why not?” he frowned.

She smiled gently. “I am thirteen hundred years older than you.”

He exhaled the barest of laughs, and she turned. Caspian stared after her, unable to shake the dread that came with the possibility that it may be another thousand years before Susan and her siblings returned. Suddenly, his fingers itched for the horn he had locked away in the vaults, already wishing he could call Susan back to him.

Perhaps she heard him. Perhaps she didn’t. But either way, she turned back, mere steps from him and, brazenly, she kissed him. It was enough and not enough all at once. A taste of what could be, tainted by the bitterness of knowing that she was leaving. And when she pulled away, he pulled her close again, pressing his lips to her bare shoulder. He breathed in deep, to remember all there could be about this moment. 

He did not want to forget.

When they left, with Edmund at the front, they did so with their heads held high. Ever still the honorable kings and queens the stories made them out to be, the three oldest walked through the passage between the trees and disappeared without turning back.

But Lucy, as much the heart of Narnia now, as she had been in all the legends, cast a broken glance over her shoulder, half-turned, and caught his eye just before stepping through and vanishing.

Caspian would remember it well in the years to come as one of the few times the young queen ever looked to Narnia without a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i dislike the idea of peter and susan being barred from returning to narnia, so naturally, i left that out. this is important in an upcoming series i'll be starting soon (likely by the end of the year?) which is a narnia/merlin crossover that takes place in narnia (not to be confused with the narnia/merlin crossover series i currently have going already that does _not_ involve a trip to narnia. more details on both of those series on my [tumblr](https://angstyloyalties.tumblr.com) :) bye!
> 
> i'll be posting the epilogue to wrap everything up this afternoon, so stay tuned!  
> [@angstyloyalties on tumblr](https://angstyloyalties.tumblr.com)


	15. Epilogue

When Lucy passed through at the end of the line—following Edmund, then Peter, then Susan—she did so with a brief glance over her shoulder at the world she loved so much. She had not known the last time that she was marching her family through an old wardrobe, away from the kingdom they’d made a home of and abruptly into a place she hardly remembered. It had taken weeks for the truth to set in properly—that she would not see Narnia again until Aslan deemed it necessary. But the vision of Narnia with its wide open skies, bright blue waters, and creatures big and small all around, had faded from her mind’s eye much quicker. 

This time, she might feel the warmth of Narnia’s sun for just a little longer or keep the faces of her friends in her memory better, and so she watched as she passed through the portal in the trees, hoping it might be enough.

But with her head still turned back, the clear Narnian sky and the faces of those she loved—Aslan, Caspian, Trumpkin, and even the people of Telmar she hadn’t had time to get to know properly—darkened into the dismal tunnel of the London Underground. For how different she hoped this departure would be, the lump forming in her throat, the hollow pit in her chest beneath it, and the sudden loss of Narnia’s peaceful quiet was all too familiar. 

It hurt too feel this way again, even if she had known it might be coming this time. But as was sometimes the case with reopened wounds, there was a particular dullness in her chest too—like the stab of recollection hadn’t been able to piece her heart as deep as before. It reminded Lucy of before… Not the before she thought of previously—bright and golden with all of Narnia at their feet—but rather the dark and dreary England that could not and would not compare. 

The time In Between, she supposed, would be more accurate.

“Aren’t you coming, Phyllis?”

The question came from a gangly boy, vaguely familiar, standing inside the train doors, and for a moment, all Lucy could do was stare. Surely, he hadn’t meant them. But then she caught Susan’s eye, and exchanged grim looks with Peter and Edmund. The four collected their things quick enough to board the train before they too closed on them.

Standing huddled around the pole, bracing her feet to prepare the inevitable lurch when the train started up again, Lucy nearly missed Edmund’s question.

“Do you think there’s any way we could get back?”

It came sooner than she anticipated, but she wasn’t surprised. Of course they were eager to return. And Edmund, she knew, would be just as concerned about the passage of time as she was. One year, in exchange for more than a thousand. Her siblings couldn’t endure that again, any more than she could. But the levity in Edmund’s face when he looked up spoke of something different from her own concern.

It was not the desperation that had haunted each of them this last year, while they waited for Aslan to call them back home, but rather, some small piece of hope and brightness that Lucy was more used to see in the mirror than in her brother.

“I’ve left my new torch in Narnia!”

There were laughter lines around his eyes, breaking before the rest of his cheeky grin graced his face. Then, before Lucy could properly react to it, Susan let out a gentle, laughing sigh that filled in the space around Peter’s warm chuckle, lifting the hollowness out of his face even as he closed his eyes. 

And suddenly, Lucy found herself smiling. The pressure in her chest lifted as she chuckled, exchanging looks with her siblings. Not entirely of course, but enough.

It  _ would  _ be different this time, this home coming. 

Easier for being a second trial, but more difficult too for just that reason. In fact, Lucy expected it would be a longer wait for them this time as well. Perhaps not in Narnia—oh, she hoped not there—but here, in England. She couldn’t pinpoint exactly why she thought it, but as the doors to the train car closed in front of them, Lucy could only believe it to be true. Something bigger was coming. When it did, they would get to experience something grander than the life they were used to, whether here in England or there in Narnia. 

All in good time.

Until then, Lucy hoped they could each hold onto a little luck. Enough that the bittersweet hope rippling through them now—in the soft smile tugging at Susan’s lips, the amused shake of Peter’s head, and even the silent, subtle shake of Edmund’s shoulders—would keep them company until the time was right.

**Author's Note:**

> this fic was definitely was a very quick project for me, and i didn't take too much time to get too stuck in the weeds with the writing, so it's entirely possible that i revamp this in future years, but that'll be something for future me to think about. right now, i want to thank everyone whose read along; i appreciate you all so much and it's been such a joy to watch the hits grow for this fic over the past few months. the kudos & comments have been great mood boosters (especially with the pandemic), and it's been lovely to see y'all reading along.
> 
> feel free to leave feedback/kudos or come chat with me on [tumblr](https://angstyloyalties.tumblr.com) if you like. otherwise, i'll be back with Line of Fire next week, and also hopefully something new soon!


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